Strange Things Happen At Night
by ElizabethScaffie
Summary: 1975. An elusive Mafia Boss plagues Palermo since a couple of years. Even if the police manages to get their hands on him, he always has an alibi, and walks free the day after.How is it possible for him to be in two places at once all the time? The police sees no other option but to hire two of the best detectives around, a certain mister Carriedo and a certain mister Beilschmidt..
1. Italy Vargas

**Ciao everybody!**

**Oooookay, so here I am again, annoying everybody with my stories!**

**How are you? How are you enjoying your holidays? I closed the poll earlier than expected, because I had already started writing this! (It was a tie between the mafia story and the fantasy one, by the way X)) I don't know, I just can't stay without writing and I can't restrain myself from uploading now...! o_o I do not know about when the uploads will be... they'll probably be erratic and random until it's still summer, but will be more regular once september begins...**

**This story takes place during the 70's, around 1975 (still not sure about the year, I'll have to research some more.) Let me tell you, around that time, it was HELL.**

**I asked several people of that time, about the world in general, Europe and Italy and... wow. Just wow. Apart from the whole Cold War thing wich was at its climax, the whole of Europe was a mess. France, Enlgand, Spain, and Germany of course... In italy in particular, these years were called "Gli anni di piombo", ergo, "The lead years". I even discovered that in 1974 a bomb exploded in the plaza of the city just near my place... kind of scary, mostly because I always thought that this region was always kind of peaceful and isolated...! **

**Anyway, it was hectic. Politically, socially, economically... I'll talk more about it later on, when I'll know some more.**

**Here is the Prologue, I hope you'll like it! Sorry for the long rant, by the way C:**

**Please sit back... und ENJOY**

* * *

**PROLOGUE**

* * *

It was a wonderful night. There was no moon, and it was cloudy. A perfect, completely dark night. No one could have seen the two shadows on a wooden dock by a harbour.

"No! Please! I have a wife!" the man at the end of the dock exclaimed. He fell on his knees, begging the man in front of him to spare him.

"See if I care." The standing man replied, looking annoyed while chewing on a toothpick.

"Please!" The kneeling man repeated, crying. "Please, I beg of you!"

The standing man broke the toothpick between his teeth, scowling. "…You should have known this would happen if you said anything to the police."

The kneeling man's eyes widened in shock. "I-I didn't tell anything! I-I-I swear!"

"…Bullshit." The man spat the broken toothpick to his right and reached for something inside the jacket of his suit. "Now jump. Or do I have to help you with that?"

The crying man furiously shook his head, while still on his knees. His hands were tied behind his back, and there was a cement block tied to both his ankles. "P-please! I…I have money! A lot of money! I can pay you!"

"Nah, it's too late for that. You fucked things up since the very beginning."

A gunshot and a cry echoed through the docks and the dark black night.

A splash. Followed suit by a second one, much heavier. Then, silence.

Now there was only one man standing on the dock. The man looked down at the moving dark waters, and then at the sky, while putting the still fuming Beretta away. He then hurriedly walked away, the wooden boards of the dock creaking under his shiny black shoes.

"Move it, assholes. We're getting the fuck out of here." The man said while passing in front of other two men that were waiting for him beside a building.

"Sure thing, Boss."

* * *

_…Two days later…_

"Captain! Captain!" A voice was calling for him from the end of the corridor. The Captain sighed, bringing his fingertips to his temples. It was barely even seven in the morning. Didn't most Italians sleep around this time? He was British, so he usually was a morning person. But that morning he hadn't had his tea, so he was kind of irritated by himself already. Why did they have to bloody bother him so early?!

"Captain!"

He sighed again, hearing the running footsteps of the Lieutenant running to his office. He prepared himself, sitting straight in his chair. In a matter of moments he would barge in slamming the door and-

"Captain Kirkland!"  
Indeed, his subordinate slammed the door open, almost breaking the glass of it. The Captain forced a smile on his lips. "Good morning to you too, Delisi."

Delisi was panting, while looking to his superior. The Lieutenant blinked, straightened his spine and regained composure. "Ahem. Good morning to you as well, Captain. We have a problem."

The Captain sighed yet again. "What kind of problem?"

"Body kind of problem, sir. It's been the mafia again, by the docks."

The blond Captain scowled, standing up immediately to grab his coat and hat. "Bloody hell."

* * *

"There's no doubt sir. The mafia again." A police officer told him, while hovering over the dead man's body that had just been fished from the harbour's waters.

Captain Arthur Kirkland held a handkerchief to his mouth and nose so he didn't have to inhale the foul stench of the body. Of course, it was the mafia's work again. The man's hands were tied behinds his back, and his feet were tied together to a cement block. The body had horribly swollen, you could see that from the ropes that dug into the man's wrists and ankles.

He would never understand the kind of entertainment the Mafiosi would get out of such a murder. Letting the victim beg for his life on his knees, probably crying, saying he had a wife and children, often offering money. The murderers would obviously never accept such offers, and the victims would obviously never jump by themselves. So they would usually be shoved into the water, or shot. This man had been shot. But not in a vital part of the body, of course. The victim was destined to drown, slowly and painfully. A bullet to the heart or the forehead would have been too merciful. So the Captain wasn't surprised to see that this man had been shot in the shoulder. The bullet would have had enough force to make him lose his balance so he would fall backwards, into the deep water. And then of course… the cement block would follow the victim and seal his fate.

"Do we already know the victim's identity?" he asked.

"Not yet. But we're working on it."

"It's…it's him again, isn't it, Captain?" Delisi asked, glancing at his superior.

Arthur Kirkland gritted his teeth. He knew who it had been. Of course. Everyone knew it. The Boss of the local mafia. No one knew his name, and his henchmen called him 'Italy'. What they did know was his surname. Vargas.

The so called infamous 'Italy' Vargas.

That damned man, he probably was the devil himself. His soul was blacker than the night, that is, if he even had a soul. But even if he were soulless, he did have a brilliant mind. Because he would always result clean from the crimes he and his organisation committed. He never made a mistake, so they never got enough proof to drag him in front of a court and a judge. He sometimes would spend one or, even more rarely, two nights in jail, of course. But Arthur always had to release him, much to his dismay, after that short period of time, because they didn't have any proof of _anything_.

"I'm afraid it is, Lieutenant." The Captain sighed. "So we're probably wasting our time here. We won't find anything." He walked away from the body, stuffing the handkerchief in his pocket.

Delisi hunched his shoulders, discouraged, as he followed his superior.

"Sir! We found something! In the water!" a police officer said, running to them, waving a hand in the air, holding an object.

Something sparked in the green eyes of the Captain as he turned. But he did not hope for too much. It probably was nothing, it probably was a mistake, it probably was…

"A toothpick!"

… completely useless. The light that had sparked moments before disappeared quickly. The Captain huffed and shook his head, walking away again.

"Sir, sir! Wait! I recognize it!" Delisi exclaimed, taking the object in his hands, gaining his Captain's attention.

"What could possibly be recognizable about a broken toothpick?" Arthur honestly asked, turning to young Lieutenant.

Delisi grinned. "Italy has the habit of walking around while chewing on a toothpick. I noticed that some time ago. So I made some research, and it turned out that Italy always purchases the same toothpicks!" He held up the broken wooden object in his fingers triumphantly. "_This_ kind of toothpicks."

The spark of hope returned in Arthur's green eyes. It wasn't much, but that toothpick was _something_. And it was more than anything they had found in those two years, ever since Italy Vargas appeared.

"It's definitely a start." Captain Kirkland murmured.

* * *

Captain Arthur Kirkland scowled, annoyed, as he leaned on his desk. He glared at the man seated in front of him.

Italy Vargas was sitting on a chair in his office, one hand cuffed, legs crossed one on the other. It hadn't been difficult to find him. Quite the contrary. He was walking around at the local open market in the plaza, that very morning. He always did that. He always did as if he were a normal, law-respecting, honest citizen, walking out in the open as if he had nothing to hide. Seeing his habit of staying up late in the evenings and the obvious sneaking around during the nights, Arthur was actually surprised that this man didn't look tired.

His face had a healthy tint of slightly tanned pink, no trace of the sleepless nights under his eyes.

He looked a bit older than twenty, but no one knew his actual age. He had documents, of course, but Arthur fairly doubted those were real. He was wearing a black suit, striped with thin grey lines, and brand new shiny black shoes. He had a black, also striped, fedora hat resting elegantly on his brown hair. He was softly humming a tune to himself, and the foot that was suspended in the air moved rhythmically. It was kind of irritating.

"Stop that!" Arthur snapped at the Mafioso.

Italy stopped humming immediately, and the foot also stopped moving up and down. A surprised expression appeared on his face. Arthur hated that face. It looked so boyish, so young and smooth, so…innocent. But he knew that behind those round features, there was a cold, criminal, crazy, unmerciful _killing_ mind.

"Mister Captain, you don't like music?" He asked, smiling sweetly.

Arthur gritted his teeth, but did his best not to show he was irritated. And he did not answer the Italian. He would not give him the satisfaction of that.

Italy pouted. He pouted like a child to whom a biscuit had been denied.

Arthur hated that. He hated _everything_ of that man. Italy had been in his office many times already, and he knew he had two different attitudes: the scowling 'I'm a tough guy, do not mess with me' attitude and the smiling 'I'm so innocent, can't you see?' attitude. This was definitely the act number two. And he would not fall for it.

They had a… toothpick. Arthur wanted to kick himself. It was a small proof, and circumstantial. They had to find a witness next, or let him confess. But both options were highly improbable to happen. Arthur, after the initial euphoria of finally finding something, had to sadly admit that they didn't have _anything _against the smiling demon in front of him.

It actually sounded kind of ridiculous. A toothpick. Yeah, right. It would never work. Again, he felt the urge to kick himself for his stupidity.

Anger boiled inside the British Captain. He could practically see Italy kill that innocent man in front of his eyes. The victim, begging to be spared, at the end of the dock. Italy, smiling, shooting at him without mercy. The victim, falling backwards into the water, dragging the fatal cement weight with him, and Italy, slowly walking away, humming the same tune he was humming in his office.

He had to stop him. This had to be the right time. This had to be the time they could finally drag this criminal to jail for good and throw the key away. Even if the 'proof' they had found was kind of ridiculous.

Arthur heard footsteps echoing down the hall. He recognized them already. It was Delisi, finally - and hopefully - bringing to him the papers and the proof that would finally incriminate Vargas.

His man knocked at the door. "Come in." Arthur said, his eyes not leaving Italy. The Mafioso was staring at the ceiling, absentmindedly twiddling his thumbs in his lap. As if it were a normal nuisance, a normal misunderstanding. And he, the innocent man, had to be patient so that the stupid police officers could understand.

The Lieutenant opened the door and entered the room, and his expression already told Arthur everything. He felt completely, utterly powerless.

Italy would walk again.

Italy would walk out of his office, _again_.

Italy would walk and commit even more crimes with his organisation, _again_.

Delisi walked towards his Captain, delusion written all over his features. He gave some papers to the Brit. "We… we could pinpoint the hour of the victim's death. It was on Tuesday night, roughly around two in the morning. Vargas has an alibi. Around that hour he was at Giorgio's restaurant… having a drink."

Italy smiled, not looking at the ceiling anymore. "Giorgio makes a wonderful Limoncello. You should try it, Captain! It wouldn't stain your teeth like that awful tea of yours."

Arthur had to call upon all his self control not to lash out and strangle the madman seated in front of him. He breathed through his nose, closing his eyes, willing himself to stay calm. "How long did he stay there?"

"He… he was there from nine. He had dinner, and stayed until three in the morning."

"Who are the witnesses?"

"Giorgio himself, many clients, and one of our men." Delisi stated, lips set in a straight line.

Silence fell heavily in the room.

Italy smiled, and clapped his hands once, both feet on the ground now. "Well! That settles it, right? Could you please uncuff me? These things aren't exactly comfortable…"

The Lieutenant uncuffed, scowling, the Italian, who stood up rubbing his wrist. He then straightened his clothes, adjusted his hat and headed for the door.

Before leaving, he turned, smiling, to the obviously fuming British Captain.

"It was nice seeing you again, Captain! And remember what I said about the tea! Ladies don't like yellow teeth. As well as those big, bushy eyebrows of yours!"

Then, he left.

The Captain's face was distorted into a snarl. He tried distracting himself, while glaring at the door. "Do we have the victim's identity?"  
"…Yes. Mario Torrisi, 41 years old. He ran a grocery shop with his wife. He tried to contact us on Tuesday morning because he had a… a 'problem' with the mafia in his neighbourhood…"

Arthur roared in frustration and punched the wall.

Outside, Italy Vargas stuffed his hands in his pockets, whistling merrily while returning to the morning market. He needed to buy tomatoes.

* * *

That evening, Arthur sat behind his desk, after the umpteenth cup of tea to calm down. The knuckles of his right hand had a small bandage. He was staring at every information he had of Italy Vargas

Which wasn't much, really. Italy had managed to keep many things from them, even after being stalked for more than a year.

He had appeared two years earlier, already with trustful henchmen. He had immediately settled himself in Palermo and started his organisation. After one year, the Italian police department had called for him, Arthur Kirkland, because they couldn't stop him.

Vargas lived in a villa he had inherited from his grandfather, a certain Romulus Vargas. This was before Arthur's time there in Palermo, he had only heard stories of him, from one of the elders at the police station. This Romulus guy had been the head of the mafia for twenty years, before suddenly disappearing. He had also been untouchable, just like his grandson. It ran in the family, apparently. But Romulus had been a… well, even that elder that had been there couldn't really explain it. The only thing that he had managed to explain was that he had been a 'Good Mafioso'.

"What the bloody hell does that even mean…?!" Arthur sighed, rubbing his face with one hand.

The elder had not really been able to explain it clearly to him. The man is probably becoming senile already, Arthur had thought at that time.

"Bloody bastards…" he muttered, looking at Italy's file and the long list of his many henchmen, confirmed or suspected. He had added another name to the list in pen, beside the 'suspects' column. 'Giorgio d'Effremo, restaurant keeper', and a big question mark. Because maybe he wasn't one of his men, maybe he had been blackmailed, maybe he had been paid… but it was another man to keep an eye on.

Arthur took a deep breath, closing his eyes.

Italy was always clean. As were his men. It had been an idiotic idea, ridiculous to say the least, to try and get him with a toothpick. But it really had been more than they had ever had against him. Which meant they never had _anything_. Except, of course, of everyone knowing who he was and what he did.

Arthur sighed, tugging at his hair. The wanker always had an alibi! Whenever a body showed up, obviously killed by the mafia, Italy would always have been somewhere else, seen and noticed by dozens of people. How could he always be in two places at once?! Because he really was.

Whenever there was someone to kill, Arthur _knew_ Italy was there. He could see it in his eyes. Arthur knew that Italy was always the one pulling the trigger to end the victim's life. All other stuff was organised by his henchmen, and Italy would be present, but only supervising. The stealing, the black market, the '_pizzo_'… but if there was a person to kill because of whatever reason, Italy would be there, and he would be the butcher.

He obviously had checked multiple times that the man walking around openly visible during the evenings wasn't an impostor. He had thought that it had to be someone that looked like Italy, and that needed to be the alibi while the real Italy arranged his dirty affairs.

But it had always been him. Italy Vargas, not a look-alike. Freaking _always_. And again, the two acts would show up. The scowling aggressive one, or the innocently smiling one. It was kind of unsettling how good Italy was in acting both attitudes that were so different from each other.

Arthur and the other police officers had concluded he must have a personality disorder. He indeed probably had it, seeing Italy was a madman. A crazy soulless murderer. Murderer, killer…no, that man was a _butcher_. And his madness was an _organized_ kind of madness, which made him much more dangerous.

"Darn it all!" Arthur exclaimed, throwing all the files off the table with one arm sweep, along with his teacup - which fortunately didn't shatter, as it bounced on the floor.

He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands.

He couldn't do this.

He couldn't stop him.

That mad damned butcher.

Italy would still commit crimes, with that damned organisation of his, right under his nose. He probably was already active, that very night, while he was sitting at his desk glaring at the files.

Arthur scowled, and glared at the phone on his desk.

That was it.

That last murder had been the last drop.

He knew he couldn't do this. And he wasn't exactly a nobody. He was the still young, yet already famous Captain Arthur Kirkland, sent from London to Sicily, Palermo, because the Italians had needed someone experienced with criminals. They had seen him as a saviour, who would finally rid them of the demon, Italy Vargas.

But nooooo. He had not been enough.

Someone even more experienced than him was needed. And he just knew two people, who had fame over all of Europe that they could solve any case, any mystery, _anything_.

He grabbed the phone, but then let it go. Calling abroad would cost a fortune.

He would send a telegram.

He swiftly wrote two short telegrams, and gave them to one of his subordinates.

"Sorry sir, do I read right? _Two_ surnames?" he asked, looking perplexed at the address.

"Yes, he's Spanish. Mister Fernandez Carriedo."

"Where to?"  
"Madrid. Central Police centre, department of Investigations. Same counts for the other one, to Berlin." Arthur said, nonchalantly.

The subordinate's nostrils flared, eyes wide. "_Berlin_, sir? Which side?"

Arthur blinked. Oh, of course. The Soviets. "West side. Mister Beilschmidt. Go."

The young man sighed, relieved, and left with the telegrams.

Arthur put his fingertips together, while leaning with his elbows onto his desk. He glared yet again at the files which were now scattered on the ground.

"Soon, Italy Vargas. You'll soon pay for all that you've done. Enjoy your last few weeks of freedom."

* * *

**So, there you have it, the prologue! :D**

**And? Did you like it? I sure did, and I'm fairly excited about all of this! I hope you are too! C:**

**Have a fantastic day, everybody!**

**...**

**_Pizzo_****: Protection money paid by a business to the Mafia, usually coerced and constituting extortion. The term is derived from the Sicilian '****_pizzu_****' = beak. ****_To wet someone's beak _****(Sicilian: "****_fari vagnari 'u pizzu_****") is to pay protection money**


	2. A German and a Spaniard walk into a café

**Ciao everybody!**

**What's this? An update?! After only one day?!**

**...**

**Yay! I already wrote this part as well, so here you have it C:**

**The two detectives are introduced!  
Please sit back, und ENJOY.**

* * *

Ludwig Beilschmidt stepped off the boat, and tread foot onto the Sicilian harbour.

He took a deep breath, inhaling the salty air. Palermo.

He had been assigned for a special case here. The local mafia Boss plagued the city since two years now, and the police was kind of desperate to catch him. Apparently, everybody knew who this Boss was, and what he did, but nobody could ever show up with enough proof to throw him in jail and then drag him in front of a judge. The ones who had proof didn't talk, obviously. The ones who tried to contact the police were disposed of the very same day.

That's why they had called for him.

He had taken a plane all the way to Rome, and then he had taken a ship headed for Sicily. So there he was.

Ludwig didn't know the details yet, the telegram had been short and clear. He would get instructions as soon as he reached the police station, and he would be paired with another detective. But it was too early still, probably around six in the morning. The sun was just appearing by the horizon.

Ludwig inhaled again, looking at the pale pink sky, and picked up his leather travelling bag. He would walk a bit, and then slowly head towards the station. He had to stretch his legs anyway, after the long trip on the ship.

He walked around the many streets, looking at the slowly awakening city. After an hour or so, he went around a corner and found himself in a plaza. And there was a market.

Ludwig's eyes widened. Fruit, vegetables, cheese, meat, fish, chickens, bread, sweets, even hats, underwear and socks. A boy was selling newspapers, yelling the news to the people around him. Powerful and contrasting smells reached his nostrils. Many loud noises reached his eardrums and filled his head. There was everything in that busy and noisy market. Shouts in Italian went from every stall, filling the morning air.

"_Pesceeeee! Pesce frescooooo!_"

"_Fanno dodicimila lire, signora_."

"_Ma è un furto!_"

"_Ricordati di prendere anche il pane!_"

"_Signore! Signore! Non lo vuole un bel cappello? Guardi com'è bello!_" a man stopped him while he walked through the lively chaos, pointing to a hat. Ludwig shook his head, a bit awkward. The foreign languages he had learnt had been English, and a little French. He couldn't speak Italian very well, he just knew a few words, and the first phrase everyone learns of a new language.

"_Non parlo italiano._"I don't speak Italian.

The man shrugged and started yelling again for other clients, looking for someone that needed a hat.

Ludwig looked around marvelling at the busy people around him. His Berlin wasn't anything like this. Obviously, it was much colder, as you could see from the clothes the German was wearing. Long dark brown trousers, a white cotton shirt, a thick jacket, also brown … nothing compared to the colourful and light clothes the Sicilians were wearing. Also, even if Berlin's market was more organized and less, well, improvised, it wasn't as full of good smelling stuff or even as noisy and alive as this one.

He was so concentrated on looking around that he didn't look where he was walking. And he bumped into someone, making that someone fall.

Ludwig blinked, glancing down at the person that had run into him. He had fallen on his rear, and was slowly rubbing his head.

"Owww…"

The person was young, he must have been around his twenties. He had brown hair, while he was wearing a beige suit, with a light blue shirt.

Ludwig snapped out of it, and immediately bowed, offering a hand to the man. "Uh, er…Sorry."

The man's head snapped up and looked, eyes wide, at the hand offered to him. If Ludwig had been more alert, he would have seen some worried glances being shot at him, and the people walking around them in a small circle, avoiding them.

The man blinked a few times, stunned. Ludwig knew he was big and that his face looked intimidating, but he tried his best to look friendly. After a couple of seconds, during which he stared at the German, the Italian smiled and took the outstretched hand.

He jumped on his feet. "_Grazie mille!_"

Ludwig frowned. "_Non parlo italiano…" _he muttered, again.

The man looked a bit surprised, but then smiled. "Ah, _tedesco_, hm? German?"

Ludwig nodded, uncomfortable that his nationality had already been recognized. After the war, no one really liked Germans. He looked around his feet. The man had been carrying two very full bags of tomatoes, and one filled with pasta. The Italian quickly crouched and started picking the scattered and still rolling tomatoes up again. Ludwig thought it was polite to help too. After all, it was his fault everything was lying scattered all around them, right?

The Italian looked with a strange expression at him, when he noticed he was helping him. "Are you a tourist?" He asked.

The German grunted as he stretched his arm to get a tomato which had rolled a bit farther. "Er…you could say that. Yes. I arrived this morning."

The Italian smiled, beaming for unknown reasons. "Oh, wow! Wonderful! Thanks for the help, by the way!" he picked up his recollected stuff and stood up. Ludwig stood up as well. The Italian was a whole head shorter than him, so Ludwig kind of towered over him. That was probably the reason he hadn't noticed him earlier. He however did notice now that people walked around them in a small circle, avoiding them. Italians were less rude than he had thought or heard of them, he assumed.

"Ve, thanks again! Well, I'll be going then. Oh, I've been rude, sorry! My name is Vargas, pleased to meet you!" He said, awkwardly offering him a hand even if he was holding up a bag. The Italian looked him right in the eyes, as if waiting for something.

That sounded like a surname, it was probably custom here to present yourself with the surname first. So who was he to question such customs, even if he didn't like to present himself with his surname? "Beilschmidt. Pleased as well." He shook the hand with a firm grip.

Vargas stopped staring at him, looking kind of surprised, and then his smile widened. He had probably made him happy, by answering right, only with his surname.

"Oh, did you already have breakfast, _Herr _Beilschmidt? I could offer you one!" the Italian said.

He shook his head politely. "No, but no thanks, I'm not really hungr-"

"Nonsense! It's your first day here and you already made a huge mistake! I don't know about Germany, but not eating breakfast is a sin, here! I'll help you see the light, follow me!" Vargas interrupted him, grabbing his elbow and dragging him through the busy market, ranting enthusiastically like a small child.

Ludwig struggled a little at first, remembering he had a job to do. But then he realized something. His work needed people you knew and that you could trust, to gather information. In West Berlin, actually in whole West Germany he had his fair share of informers. Seeing it was his first day here, and that this Italian, from the looks of it, probably knew everyone in the city, he decided to follow him. He might be a useful contact, who knew? And, to be completely honest, his mouth did start watering when the word 'breakfast' was mentioned.

Vargas leaded him to the edge of the plaza, where many café's were lined up, with white tables standing outside. The Italian put the three bags on a chair, motioned to him to sit down, and ran inside. Then he ran back. "Eh, I forgot to ask… what would you like?" he asked smiling.

Ludwig sat down and put his bag near the table. He hesitated. He had heard of the famous Italian cappuccino…

"A cappuccino?" He asked, not quite sure himself.

Vargas nodded, still smiling. "Oh, and of course, I'm the one paying! You're my guest now, it would be rude if I didn't!" he chirped, and then he ran inside again.

Ludwig shook his head smiling. This Italian really acted like a sweet child. And so polite, too! He leaned back in his chair, enjoying the sun that finally had come up. Wonderful. He took off his brown hat and let it rest in his lap. But he had to remind himself, this was not a holiday.

He had a mafia Boss to catch. As soon as he had finished the breakfast, he would thank the cheerful Italian and head for the police station, where Captain Kirkland was waiting for him.

* * *

Antonio Fernandez Carriedo walked around the city absentmindedly. It was still much to early to his tastes. He had travelled all the way from Madrid to the coast, then he had taken a boat to the west side of Sicily, and then a train for his final destination. But said train travelled only at night, so he had arrived in Palermo even before six in the morning, when most of the city was still asleep.

His brown leather bag hung to his right shoulder with a leather strap, and with every step, the bag would softly thud against his left hip. With his hands stuffed in his pockets and the shirt out of his pants, he wandered about the place. He didn't have the faintest idea of where he was, but he knew the police station was near a plaza of some sort. As soon as the city would wake up, he would ask somebody for directions.

A certain Kirkland guy had contacted him for an urgent job. Somehow, the name sounded familiar, he had to be a famous officer or something. Anyway, he had been contacted because of the mafia Boss that plagued the city, and whom the police apparently couldn't throw in jail. Everyone knew who he was and what he did, but there was no proof. Nothing. That's why he was needed, undercover, together with another agent from West Berlin. He himself was one of the best detectives around, even if he probably didn't look like it. He didn't know much yet of this case, he'd have to talk with this Kirkland first.

But it was far too early for him to be thinking about work. He yawned, stretching his back. He really needed a coffee…

He was also kind of getting hungry, so as soon as he saw an open café he headed in its direction. Even if they didn't have churros, an Italian breakfast was good enough for him.

A bell chimed when he opened the door. The barkeeper glanced distractedly at him while making a coffee. There were five people seated all in different places. One was reading the newspaper, another was drinking his coffee calmly, a third was reading a book while smoking a cigarette, the fourth was staring into nothingness without touching his coffee, and the fifth was seated at the bar, on a high stool, head hunched between his shoulders.

Antonio's eyebrows shot up. Such liveliness! Oh, but it wasn't even six in the morning. It was understandable. Even a chair would be more alive and active than himself, normally speaking, around that hour. He yawned again.

He then headed towards the bar, settling himself on a stool not too far on the left from the other person. He ordered a cappuccino and a croissant.

While he waited for his order, he looked around the café. He then glanced towards his neighbour. He hadn't moved a centimetre from the moment he had entered the place. He was all hunched over, elbows resting on the cold surface of the bar, head hanging so you couldn't see his face. He had brown hair, hanging in front of his eyes. Antonio noticed his neat and elegant black suit, with thin grey stripes, and a fedora hat in his lap.

He also saw what the man had ordered. But it was not a cappuccino, not a coffee, not even tea. An almost empty liqueur glass rested near the man's intertwined hands.

Antonio frowned. Drinking already, so early in the morning?

He didn't know why, but he called out for the man. He almost _felt_ sadness radiating from that person in big and continuous waves.

He leaned a little in his direction. "Hey _amigo_, are you alright?"

The man's head snapped up, as if he had been sleeping, to look at the source of the voice. Antonio immediately noticed a few different things.

First, how young he looked. Younger than him, probably around his early twenties. His face was slightly tanned, contorted into a scowl, and he had a toothpick in the corner of his mouth. Then, the waves of sadness disappeared, and were replaced by much more powerful irritation waves. Finally, he noticed there were two slightly dark rings under his eyes. Hm, this wasn't an 'early morning' drink. He probably had been awake all night, so this had to be a 'late night' drink.

"_Cazzo vuoi?_" the man snarled baring his teeth, his voice a bit thick. If it was because of the tiredness or because of the alcohol, Antonio didn't know. Probably both. And the toothpick didn't really help.

Antonio sat back straight again, closing his eyes holding his hands up. He knew Italian, at least enough to communicate, and he had understood what the other had said. 'The fuck do you want?'

"Eh…nothing, just checking if you were alright." He answered in English.

The man glared at him, scanned him from head to toe, and then turned to his glass again. He picked it up and emptied it in one swift motion. "…Why would you fucking care."

"Because you don't look alright." Antonio answered honestly. The barkeeper gave him his order. The Spaniard took the small spoon and moved it around in the warm cappuccino.

"You're not from around here, are you?" The young man asked, still grumbling, motioning with two fingers to the barman at he needed a refill. The barkeeper promptly reacted and quickly refilled his glass with amber-coloured liquid.

Antonio nodded, as he bit down onto his pastry. "Hm-hm! Mm spmnsh!"

The Italian cocked an eyebrow, biting on his toothpick. "Say again?"

Antonio swallowed, croissant crumbs all around his mouth. "I'm Spanish!"

"So you're a tourist." The other said, unimpressed.

Antonio cleaned his mouth with his forearm, crumbs falling everywhere. "…Uh, you could say that. I just got here. Anyway, pleased to meet you! My name is Antonio." He outstretched his right hand towards the other man.

The other did not answer immediately.

"…Vargas." He stated after a whole minute of silence, staring at his now refilled drink and not taking his hand. The Italian however glanced sideways at the Spaniard, looking for a reaction.

"Is that your surname? It doesn't sound like any Italian name I've heard before… oh well! Nice to meet you, _señor_ Vargas!" Antonio smiled, taking his hand back again, apparently unfazed by the Italian's rudeness, before turning to his cappuccino and drinking it all at once. Ah, he immediately felt better, the caffeine was doing its job well. His brain was slowly waking up.

He saw but didn't register the stunned and perplex expression that had appeared on the Italian's face for the slightest of moments.

The Italian had expected a reaction, but not…that one. Vargas regained his composure again.

"…Whatever." He took another sip of his drink.

Antonio put down the cup and looked at the man. The Spaniard had a milky moustache because of the cappuccino.

Despite himself, Vargas snickered, biting on his toothpick. "You look like a complete moron, you know that?"

Antonio's eyes widened. "What? Do I have something on my face?" he asked, clueless, craning his neck while looking for a mirror. Doing so, he almost fell from his high stool.

Yes, this man is definitely an idiot, the Italian thought.

"Take this, dimwit. Clean your damn cappuccino moustache." Vargas said, offering him a napkin.

The Spaniard smiled. "Thanks!" he cleaned the moustache, and looked at the Italian as he took another gulp of the liqueur. "If I may ask… why are you drinking so early?" he hesitantly asked, knowing it probably was a touchy subject.

"Not your fucking business." Vargas snarled, taking another gulp and so finishing the drink again. He motioned to the barman for another refill. "And about the early… it depends from perspectives."

Antonio frowned, finishing his croissant. So he had been right. These were 'late night' drinks for Vargas. "Oh, okay. Sorry if I bothered you." He said, reaching for his pocket for the money so he could pay for his breakfast. But the crumpled paper bills were at the bottom of his pocket, so he had to squirm a little to reach them. He stood up so he could dig better into the damn pocket.

The Italian glared sideways at him. "Leave it."

The Spaniard blinked, as he stopped squirming. "What?"

"I'll pay for you. You probably just have enough fucking money to survive until lunch, anyway." Vargas grumbled, as he finished the whole - third, at least that Antonio knew of - drink in one gulp.

Antonio frowned. He knew he didn't exactly look like a prince, but he did have money! He was one of the best paid men in Europe! He didn't argue, though. A glare from the Italian told him not to.

"…Eh…thanks…" he smiled again, a bit uncomfortable this time. Darn it, he knew he usually appeared like an idiot to people, but _that_ was a useful feature for him. He would naturally appear like a complete fool, so he could gather information more easily and so his enemies would lower their guards, thinking he was harmless. But to also look like a person without any money… he _had_ to find the willpower to go and buy new clothes someday. He glanced at the elegantly dressed Italian. The other people in the bar were all well dressed too. Heck, even the barman looked much better than him. To Vargas he probably appeared like a homeless person. He had showered back in Spain, before getting on the boat headed for Sicily, but the travelling and the heat obviously had not made him smell like flowers.

The Italian nonchalantly put his hand in his pocket, took out a black wallet and extracted a few bills. He smacked them onto the bar. He then jumped off the stool with one swift motion, one hand putting the wallet away and the other grabbing the hat and putting it on his head.

Antonio blinked. For a person who had had an unidentified but probably high number of drinks, Vargas stood straight without apparently any effort. Except for the slight slur in the voice, he would never had thought this man wasn't sober. But maybe the slur was caused because of his tiredness.

Wow, this man probably had a liver of steel.

He then noticed that Vargas was scowling at him yet again, teeth bared while biting on the toothpick.

"The fuck are you staring at?" he snarled.

Antonio jumped out of his thoughts, as well as literally. "Whoops! Sorry. Thanks for the breakfast…" He said sheepishly.

Vargas shook his head sighing. He then headed for the door, followed by the Spaniard. The bell chimed again, and they were outside. The sun was slowly coming up, it probably was dawn already. Antonio looked briefly at the pink morning sky. A lonely star twinkled still.

He looked down again, and noticed that Vargas had disappeared.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, looking around frantically for the Italian. He vaguely saw him, already far away, down the street.

Vargas walked away, hands stuffed in the pockets of his elegant suit, with his head hunched between the shoulders again. An arm got up and waved once, the Italian not even turning to face him as he walked away. "Good riddance, moron." He said, barely loud enough for Antonio to hear.

Antonio noticed the strange walking position, almost like the one of an old man. He waved with his arm too, even if he knew the other would not wave back. "Bye…!" Vargas turned a corner. "Oh, I guess he doesn't hear me anymore… oh well." He shrugged.

He had a job to do.

He suddenly remembered something.

"Oh, man! I should have asked him where the police station was!" He exclaimed, slapping a hand to his forehead. He had to talk to this Kirkland guy for his job!

But first, he had to find out where the hell he was.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, and started walking again through the slowly awakening city.

* * *

**Oh, if they only knew. :')**

**I hope you are liking it so far! I like how Antonio turned out, somehow I identify myself a lot in him and it's easier for me to write him... I actually don't know if it's a bad or a good thing...!**

**See you next time! Ciaoooo! :D**

**...**

** (1936 Lire = 1 Euro. But at that time, it was a lot of money!)**

_**Pesceeeee! Pesce frescooooo! :**__ (italian) Fiiiish! Fresh fiiiiish!_

_**Fanno dodicimila lire, signora :**__ (italian) That will be 12.000 lire, miss_

_**Ma è un furto! :**__ (itailan) That's outrageous! (lit. 'It's a theft')_

_**Ricordati di prendere anche il pane! :**__ (italian) remember to get the bread as well!_

**_Signore! Signore! _**_**Non lo vuole un bel cappello? Guardi com'è bello! :**__ (italian) Mister! Mister! Don't you want a pretty hat? Look at how beautiful it is!_

**_Non parlo italiano :_**_ (italian) I don't speak Italian_

**_Grazie mille! :_**_ (italian) thanks a lot!_

**_Tedesco : _**_(italian) German_

**_Herr :_**_ (german) Mister_

**_Cazzo vuoi? :_**_ (italian) The fuck do you want?_


	3. Dang it!

**Ciao everybody!**

**Wait, I did it again?! Another update after only one day?! I'm on a roll! :D :D**

**Here is the new chapter already! It's a bit shorter, but I promise next chapter will be longer! Wohoo!  
Please sit back, und ENJOY.**

* * *

Captain Kirkland sat in his office, an empty cup of tea in front of him. Mister Beilschmidt was seated in front of him on one of the two chairs, reading a book he had brought with him. Mister Carriedo was late.

Arthur glanced at his watch. Half past nine. He knew Spaniards never really were on time, but he had thought that perhaps such a famous detective would be different. No such luck, apparently.

Mister Beilschmidt on the other hand really looked and acted like a true German, despite being young. His blonde hair was meticulously slicked back, his blue eyes were sharp and analyzing, he was dressed elegantly in a brown suit, with an equally brown leather bag. Sure, the suit wasn't made for the warm weather of Sicily, but in the cold days of Berlin it probably would do just perfectly. And of course, mister Beilschmidt had arrived right on time, half past seven, at their appointment. Not a second too early, not a second too late.

A quarter to ten. Arthur's eye twitched. This Mister Carriedo better live up to his fame and be worth the time they were wasting…

Some minutes after ten, he heard hurried running footsteps echoing down the hall, and Arthur inhaled deeply. These weren't Delisi's steps, it probably was Carriedo. Finally.

He sat up upright again, ready to receive the other detective.

The door was suddenly slammed open, like Delisi often did. Arthur made a mental note to arrange a stronger door.

A man appeared, panting, looking dishevelled. Both of Arthur's bushy eyebrows shot up. _This_ was the famous detective Fernandez Carriedo?

Chocolate brown, wavy hair framed his young face, a pair of light green eyes glancing around the room quickly. He was wearing a worn-out white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The shirt wasn't tucked into the dark brown pants, and he didn't even have a hat or a jacket. And old-looking leather bag hung to his shoulder with a strap, and dangled awkwardly as he hunched over, hands on his knees, catching his breath.

After a couple of seconds, the Spaniard straightened up again, wiping his forehead. "I'm sorry if I barged in so suddenly… I'm not late, am I?" he panted, hopeful.

Arthur resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "The appointment was at half past seven, mister Carriedo."

The Spaniard looked taken aback. He glanced at his own watch, and groaned. "Oh, God. I'm sorry! I got lost a few times…" he said sheepishly, rubbing his head.

The Captain couldn't believe his eyes and ears. Seriously, _this_ was Carriedo? He definitely had expected someone else. Someone much more organized, or with at least a professional appearance, like Beilschmidt. He saw that the German was scrupulously analysing his new partner with those piercing blue eyes of his.

Carriedo didn't look like a detective, he looked like a street artist. A kind of dumb and bankrupt street artist, for that matter.

Arthur sighed, and stood up. Maybe it was just appearances. "Oh well. Anyway, I am Arthur Kirkland, Captain of this police department." He offered his right hand across his desk to the Spaniard.

"Antonio Fernandez Carriedo! Pleased to meet you!" The Spaniard smiled, shaking his hand. He then turned towards the German, who also stood up to present himself.

"Ludwig Beilschmidt." He stated with his deep voice.

"Wait, _the_ Ludwig Beilschmidt? From West Berlin?!" Antonio gaped, shaking his hand in awe.

Ludwig nodded curtly.

"Wow, I heard a lot of you! I'm so honoured!" The Spaniard said, beaming.

Then, they all sat down. And finally, Arthur could start explaining their desperate situation. He picked up the two files destined for the detectives, but he didn't hand them over to the two. Not yet.

"Gentlemen, I'd like to inform you, before anything, that this case is a dangerous one. A highly dangerous one. If you do not wish to do this, you can still back down now." He warned the detectives, holding one of the two files up.

Both men nodded gravely.

"I'm willing to take the risks." Ludwig stated formally. "As far as I've understood, our target is a very dangerous criminal. We would be committing a crime ourselves if we did not try and intervene to stop him."

"Risks make part of our job, no? I'm not going anywhere." Antonio said, his face serious for the first time that morning.

Arthur nodded. He knew these would be most likely the answers. He inwardly smiled. That's more like it. Now, _these_ were the two famous detectives he had heard of and hired. Both pairs of eyes, one light green and one light blue, had the same determined and intelligent gaze. He marvelled at both of them, especially at Carriedo. He probably only _acted_ to look like an idiot. Clever tactic.

"Very well. I then here present to you our problem. The cause of you two being here, is _this_ man." He said, giving each detectives a folder. "The so called 'Italy' Vargas."

Both detectives stiffened, looking at the picture on the files in their hands.

"You've got to be kidding me…" Antonio murmured.

"_Sheiße_…" Ludwig muttered.

"Gentlemen? Is there a problem?" The Captain asked, curious because of their reactions.

The German looked up, lowering the file. "I met this man this very morning." He said, lips set in a straight line and nostrils flared in irritation.

What? _What!?_ "…Are you sure?" the Brit asked, unbelieving.

"Definitely. He told me his name was Vargas, and it's the same man as in the picture." Ludwig answered, looking kind of pissed.

Okay, this was unexpected. "…What did he do?" the Captain asked further.

Ludwig's blue eyes turned down to look at the floor. "He…offered me a cappuccino." He admitted, eyes narrowing. God, it sounded so ridiculous.  
Arthur turned to look at the Spaniard, who was also looking bewildered at the file. He held it with his fingertips and at arm-length, as if it were infected.

"Oh dang it, I met him too…"

Now the Captain was getting suspicious. He cocked a bushy eyebrow. "You too?"

The Spaniard nodded, eyes wide. "Yes… he… he bought me breakfast…" he stuttered, not believing his eyes. He glanced at the German. "…as well." he added.

"So, let me get this straight. I called you to solve, undercover, our mafia Boss case, and the first day you get here, not only you both meet him, but he offers you both _breakfast?!_" Arthur said, voice rising in volume with each word.

"As improbable as it might sound… it seems like it." Ludwig admitted, irritation of having been tricked plainly visible.

"I don't believe this!" Antonio said.

"I should be the one saying that! Wait, when did this happen?" the Captain then asked, frowning.

Antonio looked up at the ceiling, before answering. "Uh… somewhere before six."

Ludwig blinked, his expression so hard it looked like it had been carved from stone, eyes colder than Winter itself. "After seven."

"But how is it possible? Did he know you? Did he _recognize_ you?!" Arthur asked eagerly, hoping that maybe, maybe not everything had been compromised yet. The plan had been to hire the detectives discreetly, so they would not be immediately be noticed by the Mafioso and his organisation, and so they could work freely. If their cover had already been blown from the start… he could kiss farewell to any hope of catching Italy.

Both detectives shook their heads.

"No, I don't think he recognized me. Or my surname." Ludwig said, remembering the Italian, as happy and innocent-looking like a child. Now that he thought about it… the people avoiding them at the market when they were picking up the tomatoes… it hadn't been out of politeness. Damn it, it had almost been obvious…! Ludwig cursed himself.

"Me neither. I only told him my name, and he probably thought I didn't have enough money to pay for myself." Antonio murmured, remembering the irritated Italian with the toothpick. He remembered the barman, how promptly he always refilled his drink whenever the Italian flicked his fingers… Of course. Now he knew why. Antonio cursed himself.

Arthur sighed, relief washing over him. At least the operation wasn't compromised yet.

"Okay, you scared me. But if he didn't recognize you, things will run smoothly, for the time being."

He coughed.

"Ahem. So anyway, this is our problem. Italy Vargas. I put everything we know in those files, you can take them with you and study them as soon as you get to your hotel. I don't have any orders for you, I'll leave you complete freedom in action. And do not search contact with us, if it is not strictly necessary. The police station is not, sadly enough, a completely safe place. As isn't my home, that's why you must not contact me unless it is an absolute necessity. And even then, contact me and me only, or my Lieutenant. No one else. The purpose of your presence here will eventually be discovered, that is almost certain. But until that time, do not show in public who you are and that you are working together. I arranged a hotel for you to sleep in, your rooms are close to each other, and it is relatively safe, safer than most places. But you never must leave the building together, understood? I'll have a couple of my men placed around there, undercover, so they can intervene in case something… undesirable happens. You're foreigners, so you'll just appear as harmless tourists. But you should both wear a hat anyway, so that you can't be immediately recognized in the unlikely event that someone has heard of you or seen you before. So, mister Carriedo, please go and purchase a hat for yourself. Mister Beilschmidt, to you I suggest you purchase some lighter clothes: Sicilian weather is not merciful. Be careful for the muggers, as well. But do _whatever_ is necessary to unmask this man. Literally _anything_. I don't care how you'll get it, but I. Want. _Proof_. I want him on his knees, in chains, stripped of his power, money and men, in front of a judge and the families of all of his victims." He paused the long string of do's and don'ts, like a mother recommending something to her child. Then he held up one warning finger. "And, most importantly, please, do _not_ get caught by Vargas. He does not like people that meddle too much with his affairs. Anyone who did that is now resting in a comfortable coffin. I even lost two of my men like this, because they apparently 'knew too much'."

Silence followed the Brit's speech, interrupted by Antonio emitting a low whistle. Then he puffed his cheeks. "Whew. I hope you wrote it all down, because I'm never going to remember all of that."

Arthur wanted to smirk. Carriedo was acting like a fool again, while Beilschmidt's stoic face looked like the one of a stone statue. But the Brit could see the cogs already turning in both detectives' heads. It was kind of fascinating to imagine them. The cogs in the head of the German were of steel and lead, perfectly oiled and groaning as they set the powerful thinking machine to work. The cogs in the head of the Spaniard were instead made of stone, combined with much more lighter ones of wood; the first kind was turning with an ancient, deep rumbling noise, while the second kind clicked at seemingly random places, connecting cogs in ways you could never have imagined.

Arthur smiled. _This_ was why he had called the two of them. The mind of the first was perfectly logic, agile, quick and cool in thoughts like a well oiled machine. The mind of the other was of a seemingly older model, but equally as powerful, actually more versatile and with a few passages it could make connections no one else would have seen.

"Did I make myself clear?" He asked for confirm.

"Aye aye, capt'n!" Antonio exclaimed, as if he were talking to the captain of a ship.

Ludwig nodded once. "Yes."

Arthur was ready to make them leave, but remembered something. "Oh, by the way, does any of you speak Italian? Italians are terrible at learning English, especially around here, where they learn to speak dialect first, and only then correct Italian."

Ludwig looked kind of embarrassed. "No. I know some words, but that's it."

The Captain's blood ran cold. He had completely forgotten about the language issues! Even if you hired the best detective of the world, he would be completely useless if he could only speak Finnish, or some unintelligible language like that!

He bit his lower lip nervously. "Bloody hell."

Antonio smiled, looking sideways at the German. "Eh, I speak Italian…"

Thank heavens, Carriedo wasn't a complete moron like he appeared to be! Arthur sighed, relieved. He had been lucky this time. He'd have to be more careful next time he hired foreigners. He himself had had some problems integrating because of his British accent, slipping also in his Italian.

"Wonderful. As I said, I don't want to know how you two intend to proceed. I assume you also are perfectly capable of defending yourselves. Remember: you are two innocent and harmless tourists, and you didn't come to the police today. Understood?"

Both men nodded.

The three of them stood up, and the Captain made Ludwig leave first, from one of the backdoors he knew the mafia wasn't aware of. After an hour or so, and after a headache that struck the Brit because the Spaniard would not stop talking, Antonio left too.

Captain Kirkland returned, satisfied of himself for the first time in months, to his office.

With two detectives of that calibre at his heels, Vargas wouldn't last a week.

Arthur took a sip of his hot cup of tea, staring at a small picture of Vargas on one of his files. Hmm, he'd have to purchase some decent clothes for his imminent trial.

* * *

**Oh boy, Luddy is ****_pissed_****. While Toni... is Toni. :D**

**I hope you liked it! **

**See you next chapter, have a fantastic day! ;D**

**_Sheiße :_**_ (german) Shit_


	4. Operation Socializing Smoke Fan

**Ciao everybody! **

**...Again, another update after a day!? What the hell?! ...wow.**

**Either way, here's the chapter! **

**Oh, and look at the title!**

**...**

**Confused? **

**Good! That was precisely my intention XD**

**Okay, enough of this nonsense! Please sit back, und ENJOY**

* * *

Antonio frowned, looking at the file of Italy Vargas in his hand, while with the other he knocked on Ludwig's hotel room's door.

"_Ja?_"

"It's me, Antonio."

He heard a chair being moved, and then a couple of heavy steps coming from inside. Then, after being unlocked, the door opened. Hell, the German was so big Antonio actually wondered how he could even fit through the doorframe.

The Spaniard held up the file. "I wanted to talk with you about these…"

Ludwig nodded, let him in and then locked the door again. Antonio noticed Ludwig's room had a window, but that the wooden panels had been closed shut, as were the curtains. Two yellow lights illuminated the room, even if it was two o'clock. So there was plenty of sun, in theory.

"Why did you close your window?" he asked, as he plopped down on the bed, while Ludwig seated himself at the only chair and desk of the room.

"It's too hot. And like this, no indiscreet people will listen to our conversations." Was the short explanation.

Antonio's eyebrows shot up. Too hot? Oh yeah. Where he lived, it probably was much, much colder. He himself was used to the heat, being Spanish and all…

He shrugged. "Suit yourself. Do you want to switch with my room? I don't even _have_ a window."

The German shook his head. "No. It's alright like this. You wanted to talk about the files?"

The Spaniard almost rolled his eyes. He had heard of the famous Ludwig Beilschmidt, he was one of the best - like him, he mentally added - but really, the blond apparently never stopped thinking about work! He probably never relaxed! Work, work, work… Antonio liked his job, but the word 'work' was so sleep-inducing… work, work, work… he already felt his eyelids droop…

"Ah-hem." Ludwig cleared his throat..

"Yeah, the files!" the Spaniard promptly said, immediately awake again.

Now it was Ludwig's turn to almost roll his eyes.

Antonio tried to regain his dignity again. "So. Right. There's this one thing I don't understand…"

"What thing?" Ludwig asked, curious.

The Spaniard went through the pages of the file, trying to find the paragraph again. "Eh… this part."

He cleared his throat, and read aloud. "_Italy Vargas often shows an innocent, friendly and apparently harmless attitude._"

Ludwig cocked an eyebrow. "So?"

Antonio blinked. "You said you met him, right? Like I did? But he hadn't a… an 'innocent, friendly and apparently harmless attitude', right?"

The German frowned. "What do you mean?"

Now it was Antonio's turn to frown. "I mean… you met him barely an hour later than I did… and when I saw him he was scowling and cursing, looking fairly irritated. Not exactly what I would call 'friendly'."

Ludwig sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Did you even read the whole page, or at least the whole paragraph?"

"Er…not yet… I saw this and I stopped reading to ask this to you." Antonio admitted.

"Go on reading."

Antonio looked down at the file and started reading aloud the next paragraph "_Alternating to the innocent attitude, an aggressive and rude attitude appears as well. Italy's dangerousness and instability of mind is clearly more present in these moments, during which he is much more irritable, swearing and threatening anything that moves. Our theory is that he most probably has a personality disorder; this concludes that this man is a crazy criminal, dangerous in both attitudes. But Italy's madness is an organized one, which isn't immediately recognizable during the 'innocent' moments and thus makes him much more dangerous than he already is._"

Antonio paused. "Yes, that sounds more like it. But mentally ill, psychic instability? This stuff is new to me…" he remembered the man in the bar. He hadn't looked mentally unstable. Sure, he had been rude, swearing and snarling, but… "If he really is mentally unstable, how can he lead a criminal organisation? I mean, don't his henchmen clearly see he's mental? I wouldn't want to be serving a lunatic, even if he paid well…" The Spaniard flipped through the pages until he saw the list of Italy's henchmen. They were so _many_, not even counting the suspects.

Ludwig took his copy of the file and shrugged. "I have no idea. Criminals will always remain strange. Anyway, Vargas apparently never makes a mistake. He leaves no evidence, no proof, no witnesses… nothing. And as cherry on top, he always has an alibi." The German read quickly a couple of paragraphs.

"Why don't we try and get one of his men?" Antonio suggested, looking at the long list.

"Not possible. They are incorruptible, and extremely loyal."  
"All of them?!" Antonio gaped at the list.

"All of them. I know it doesn't seem possible, but it is. And even if we did manage to find enough proof to throw one of them in jail, the biggest problem would still be there. We have to get the big Boss of it all." Ludwig stated. "But he is as safe as he can be. He has money, power, influence… Maybe he simply pays some people so they say he was at a certain place at a certain hour…"

"Nah, here it says even the Captain and the police saw him multiple times. The guy really was there." Antonio shook his head. Then, he glanced at the ceiling. "A look-alike, perhaps?"

Now it was Ludwig's turn to shake his head, reading the following paragraphs. "No. Here it says that the Captain personally checked it wasn't a look-alike. It really was him."

Antonio let his back rest on the bed, holding up the files above his head. "Hmm… okay, we don't have the faintest idea how he can do that. I read here he has a villa… with servants, I guess? Did they try to get in there? I mean not force their way in, but, I don't know… someone offering to become one of his butlers? Or one of his men? Otherwise we could try it, to gather information…"

The blond shook his head again. He flipped over other pages of the file, eyes darting quickly left and right as they read the tiny words. "They tried it already. And not only the police, but journalists, writers and photographers as well. It always ended the same. The ones who tried to force or sneak their way in were intercepted either by the guards or the dogs. The ones who tried to get hired as butlers, or as new henchmen, or even as cooks or similar got rejected at the first try. Somehow, Vargas always knows who to trust, and who instead wants to infiltrate his home…"

"Well, of course. He probably has eyes and ears everywhere." Antonio muttered. He now was actually kind of glad that the German had closed the window. He dearly hoped there weren't any microphones in the walls. But if the Captain chose this hotel for them, it was probably safe.

They both fell silent. The silence was broken by Antonio, who sat up, making the springs of the bed creak.  
"…So, what do we do? How do we get this guy to talk?"

Ludwig cocked an eyebrow. "You already want him to confess? Why don't we ask him tomorrow, then? Or even this evening?"

Antonio smiled awkwardly, looking elsewhere. "No, I didn't mean that… I mean, how do we get proof? His men don't talk, they can't be corrupted with money or something else, because they are extremely loyal. And actually, that is an astounding achievement, I have to admit it. His villa-house apparently is a fortress, guarded by men and dogs. He organizes crimes, murders, thefts, blackmails and black market right under the police's nose, and he always gets away with it." Antonio glanced at the folders. "Well, at least he doesn't deal drugs or have organized prostitution… it seems Italy Vargas likes to save some dignity. Anyway, as I was saying, the guy looks like he's made out of smoke."

"Smoke…?" The German didn't get the analogy.

"Yes, smoke! You know, smoke… you see it, you smell it, it moves, it even stains everything around itself… but if you try to grasp it with your hand, you can't catch it." Antonio mimicked the gesture of trying to catch something in the air.

"…We could use a fan then, and all our problems would be solved. We found his weakness, the case is solved. Quick, call the Captain telling him we need an enormous fan to get the Vargas-smoke out of the city." Ludwig smirked.

Antonio's eyes widened at the German. "Did you just make a joke?" he smiled broadly, and Ludwig already regretted everything.

They returned serious again.

"Anyway, this apparently crazy man is as safe as he could ever be. He walks around the city without any fear - actually, instilling fear in others - and he even strolls around the local market." Antonio continued, a hand cupping his chin.

"…Offering breakfast to tourists." Ludwig added, eyebrow twitching. God, he had sat at the very same table with that man. And he had talked with him. He had helped picking up the damn tomatoes…! He… he had _bumped_ into him. He had made him _fall_ back on his rear. Ludwig's gut constricted, thinking of what could have happened if he had done it during the night in a deserted alley, and not in an overcrowded market… The German swallowed. The Italian would have offered him breakfast alright. A breakfast based on lead and gunpowder. Or based on rope, cement and deep waters. He swallowed again.

Antonio kept rubbing his chin. "That is what I don't understand… why would a mafia Boss offer breakfast to strangers? Even better, two foreign strangers, on the same day!"

Ludwig remembered something. "He smiled broadly to me after he told me his name."

"So?"  
"Well, obviously, I didn't recognize it yet. And he was actually… _happy_ that I didn't know him, or his name. Even when I helped him pick up his tomatoes that had fallen… he was surprised." Ludwig muttered, frowning.

Something clicked in the Spaniard's mind. "Wait, that happened to me too! He waited a lot before telling me his name, and I did vaguely notice he was kind of surprised! As if he had expected a specific reaction from me!"

"You think he doesn't like being recognized? I don't think so, if what I read in these files is true." Ludwig stated, looking at a random page of the file.

Antonio remained silent, but his eyes narrowed as he looked at the wall. His lips moved slowly, however no sound came from them.

"What are you doing…?" The German asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Antonio didn't answer immediately. "…Think about it, Ludwig. It's okay if I call you Ludwig, right? Try thinking about it. He is a human being, after all, just like us. How would you feel?"

Ludwig blinked. "About what?"

"About everything. I mean, suppose you had an army of loyal men at your command, you had the city on its knees and in your hand, and you could make a fool out of the police force any time. Suppose you had the power, the money, the men, the infamous fame… How would you feel?"

The blond didn't answer immediately. "Powerful?" he suggested.

The Spaniard shook his head. "Have you ever read stories of famous American film actors, or singers?"

"Can't say that I have. But what on earth does it have to do with what we're talking about?"

"Those people are considered the most happy and lucky people on earth. They have money, fame… everything. But not a single one of them is really happy, and most of them die at young age because of drugs or because they kill themselves." Antonio explained to the other. He paused before adding the key phrase. "They are lonely."

At this, Ludwig's eyebrows shot up. "You think Vargas is _lonely?!_"

"I know it sounds ridiculous!" Antonio immediately exclaimed. "But… but it makes sense! As I said, even if he's mentally unstable, he still is a human being just like us! He's not a soulless killing machine. No one can be that. Even people like him have feelings. For the wrong things, probably, but still. As Aristotle once said, 'Man is by nature a social animal'. And how could you else explain that he offered breakfast to the both of us? What would he gain? Foreign tourist affiliates? Even to me that sounds stupid. And what about his reaction when we didn't recognize his surname?"

Ludwig remained silent.

"Exactly. I think all he needs is someone to talk to, a friend perhaps…" Antonio continued musing.

"I'm _not_ going to socialize with a criminal." Ludwig immediately stated, eyes glacial. "I _catch_ criminals. As do you."

"I'm not saying we actually have to befriend him! Only… act like it. So we actually _can _catch him, you know?" Antonio quickly explained.

Ludwig slowly nodded, eyes narrowing. "…Continue. I'm listening."

The Spaniard continued his theory, slightly uncomfortable under that piercing blue gaze. "So, ahem, I think we should take advantage of this human loneliness. It's probably the only way to get close to him. Talk to him as if we didn't know him, as if we didn't know what he did. Socializing with him-I mean _acting_ like it!" He quickly added, noticing the icy glare of the other. "Coming close like this. It's a much better plan than trying to infiltrate his house disguising ourselves like cooks, don't you think?"

After a long pause, the German answered. "…It does sound like a plan. Even if I'm not that good with socializing."  
Antonio almost rolled his eyes. Really? Not good with socializing? He would have never even guessed, nooo!

"…We could gain his trust a little." Ludwig muttered, persuaded.

Antonio beamed. "Exactly! Okay, now we know _what_ we'll do. But, _how_ will we do it?" he returned serious again.

Ludwig stared at the files yet again. "We will be discovered, sooner or later. That's a fact, even if apparently only the Captain and his Lieutenant know about our identities and the reason of our presence here. So we'll have to be quick. And very, very careful. And not act both at the same time. It would be suspicious. And if he were to find out…" Ludwig remembered the Captain's warnings."…I don't exactly want to end my career at the bottom of a Sicilian harbour, or somewhere in a dark alley."

He quickly glanced towards the last part of the files, where multiple pages described all of Italy's 'confirmed' victims. Many had been executed like criminals, with machineguns or simple guns; with some victims it had all been arranged so that it had looked like a suicide; two had been pushed down from the top of a tall building; others had been beaten or stabbed to death, and sometimes even dog bites had been found on the victims' bodies; many had been shoved in the harbour's waters with a weight tied to their ankles, and others had been run over by cars; one had even been found in the back trunk of a car thanks to an 'anonymous' tip, a bullet hole through his forehead.

And these were the victims and modus operandi they knew of. Vargas also had many boats, and who knew how many bodies had been dumped into the sea, away from the coast? How many more victims they didn't know of?

Ludwig felt a cold shiver run down his spine.

The Spaniard nodded gravely. "We'll do the stuff tourists do, walking around the city! No one will think we are detectives. And by walking around, one of us will eventually run into him again. The first one to meet him will be the one socializing with him."

The blond nodded. "It's not much, but it's a start. We'll begin tomorrow." He stated.

"Operation SSF, 'Socializing Smoke Fan' is now officially active!" Antonio laughed, closing the file with both hands.

Despite himself, the German smirked.

"Tomorrow."

"Yeah, tomorrow."

* * *

**Holy flying pasta, I can't wait for the next chapter! Oh wait, I'm supposed to be writing it... dang it.**

**Anyway, I hope you liked it! It's still far too easy for me to write Antonio... and I still don't know if it's a good thing or not...**

**:D**

**See you next chapter! **


	5. Day one

**Ciao everybody! How are you? :D**

**(Oh, by the way, to reviewer 'Luci'... so it was ****_you_****! That 'Guest' in ****_Nightmare Apocalypse_****! ...hahahaha! XD)**

**Meep, sorry! **

**Anyway, here is the new chapter!  
Sit back, und ENJOY**

* * *

The next morning, he saw a blond head bobbing up and down in the crowd of the main street. He smiled.

"_Signor_ Beilschmidt!" He called out. "Hey!"

The blond head stopped and turned to look behind.

He walked a little faster, and in no time he was beside the tall German. "Good morning, _Herr_ Beilschmidt!" he smiled, looking up.

Ludwig forced a smile on his lips. There he was again. He had found him quicker than he had thought. Or, actually, he had_ been_ found. He now thought the Spaniard had kind of been right. The mafia Boss was… lonely, somehow. How bizarre that even might sound to him, why would he otherwise look for the German's company?

So there he was, standing in front of him.

'Italy' Vargas.

In his 'non-offensive' mood, judging by the broad smile and child-like demeanour. Just like the day before.

But now Ludwig knew who this man was… it made his stomach churn a little at the thought of standing right in front of the mental and ruthless killer he was supposed to hunt down.

"Good morning to you as well." He forced himself to sound friendly.

"Are you enjoying your stay here? I hope so!" Italy smiled, not noticing the strained voice of the other.

"Yes, it is very nice here. Except for the weather…" Ludwig answered honestly.

"Huh? It's sunny, what's wrong with that?" Vargas said looking up at the sky. Then he noticed the German's clothes. "Oh my, aren't you _boiling_ in those clothes?!" he exclaimed, looking at the thick suit of the blond.

Ludwig wiped his forehead. The climate indeed was too hot, not only for the suit, but simply for him. He wasn't used to it. And he honestly didn't know what to answer to the man.

"Er…"

"And you obviously can't possibly know where to buy new clothes! Follow me, we're going to get a new suit!" Vargas exclaimed, grabbing his elbow like he had done the morning before.

Ludwig briefly grimaced, not wanting to be touched by him, as if the Italian would taint him with his hands. How many people had he killed with those very same hands?! But he remembered what he had to do, and followed, despite his screaming instincts, the Mafioso.

Two hours later, he and Vargas exited the suit shop. Ludwig was wearing a new suit, a light grey one, much lighter and much less hotter than his own, as well as a new hat. Vargas had paid it all for him, despite his protests.

"Nonsense! You are my friend now, right? And I really want to give you a welcoming present for being here!" Italy had said, handing the bills to the shop owner.

Ludwig almost wanted to puke. He was really doing this, he was really _socializing_ with a criminal. Who already considered him his _friend_. Which was a big progress, he had to admit it. He briefly wondered how he would be doing with him, if he would have been less lucky and so getting the 'dangerous' mood. The mood swings weren't regular, according to the files. Sometimes they would switch multiple times on one day, while other times one mood could remain unchanged for a week, or even longer, with a maximum span of two weeks.

He almost scowled, glancing sideways at the Italian walking with him through the city. Even if the new suit felt really comfortable, elegant and light, he felt as if it were made of dirty and scorching-hot lead.

But he had to bear it. In order to stop him, he had to… befriend him. Make him trust him.

He dearly hoped he would resist the urge of punching him. Which wasn't easy.

Ludwig's fingers twitched once.

His thoughts started racing. A mafia Boss could never be alone, right? Vargas wasn't stupid. Most probably, there would be at least half a dozen men following them from afar, not losing them from their eyesight even once.

His eyes darted all around the place. Who could they be? He didn't see any of the 'confirmed' henchmen around, so it could be anyone. That smoking man at that corner. That other man in his forties, on a bench, reading a book. That woman at her balcony, looking down on the street. The chauffeur of the car that just rode past them. That boy on a bicycle with a crate of oranges.

Ludwig was so intensely scanning his surroundings that he totally forgot he was walking with a certain someone. So he got startled when the Italian touched his shoulder briefly.

"Mister Beilschmidt? Are you alright? Is the suit too tight? Or still too hot?" He asked, concern in his voice.

The German blinked, returning to reality again. He sometimes did that, lose himself while scanning his surroundings meticulously to absorb every particular of it.

"Oh, yes, I'm alright. Don't worry. And the suit is perfect, thank you." He quickly answered, and Italy smiled again.

"Phew! You had me worrying for a while! Well, can I ask you something, then?"

Ludwig inhaled deeply. "Sure."

Italy pouted for a second, thinking up the question. "What brings you here? I mean, in Italy in general. These aren't the best years to be around the peninsula, you know…" He made a vague gesture with his hand. "…Communists, fascists… fights and riots everywhere almost everyday on the streets… Or doesn't the rest of Europe know that?"

Ludwig thought about it a little, before answering. Half honest, half lying. "Well, I'm here as a tourist. I always wanted to see Italy, but I never got the chance. As for the general trouble… yes, I've heard of it a little… but isn't that true in all of Europe? After 1968, every country has had his own problems. But I wanted to come here nonetheless. There's something in my city-"

"Where do you come from?" Italy interrupted him.

"…Berlin."

"Eh, West, I guess? Or did you escape the big bad Russians?" Italy asked, still smiling.

Ludwig slowly nodded.

"Could you tell me about your city? I never really understood what happened."

The German's eyebrows shot up. He honestly didn't know what to tell. "What could I tell you? That after the war, everyone hated my country? I honestly don't blame them for that, I know what the Germans have done, but my generation was born after that. Anyway… the Allies divided Germany into four parts. One American, one English, one French and one Russian. The Russians had the East side of Germany, while the other three had the West side. Then, they divided Berlin, the capital, which resided in the Russian part of the country…" Ludwig paused. "So there was a West and an East Berlin. And then the Russians closed everything down. No one from East Germany could go anywhere. The problem was, in the middle of East Germany, there was West Berlin. The Russians wanted the whole city for themselves, so isolated the citizens. They built the wall between the two halves of the city, and isolated it all around as well. They counted on taking over West Berlin after making almost everyone in it die of starvation. But the Americans were smart, and made… a so called 'Air bridge'. They dropped food from planes on West Berlin. And they sponsored and invested money into the city, wanting to show off how better they are than the 'commies'. The people in West Germany and Berlin are free to leave whenever they want to, on planes, cars…anything. East Germany and Berlin… was cut off from the rest of the world. And the Soviets made sure it stayed that way. There are mines around the wall, electrified barbwire, tanks and sentinels with rifles on watchtowers. Sometimes, while walking around in the evenings, you would hear a mine or a machinegun because someone tried to escape."

Italy remained silent, as he listened to his words.

"If I wanted to get a holiday, I could leave whenever I wanted. So I did. I wanted to take a break from it all." Ludwig muttered, frowning. He had been more honest than he had intended to be.

Italy stayed silent for a couple of seconds, studying the face of the German. "…You know someone that is on the other side."

The German stopped dead on his tracks, as his head snapped sideways to look at the Italian, eyes wide. "What-…"

"…Someone close. A friend, or girlfriend… No, not that. Family, perhaps?…" Vargas continued, cocking his head to one side while looking at him.

Ludwig couldn't believe his ears. He stared, horrified, at the Italian in front of him. He had known him for less than a day, and he had already discovered something Ludwig had always kept as a secret. He suddenly felt completely naked, in front of the amber-brown gaze of the Italian.

He felt his insides churn. "…I have to be somewhere." He curtly stated, recomposing himself. He crossed the street with long strides, narrowly avoiding the passing cars, walking away from the Italian. In his momentary rage, he couldn't care anymore that he had a job to do, to catch that criminal by _socializing_ with him… he normally wouldn't lose patience like this, it was highly unprofessional. It wasn't like him to behave like this so suddenly. But Italy had touched a nerve. Correction, he had hit with a hammer his only, hidden, but overly-sensitive nerve. Vargas could be a complete madman, but had already discovered something he had kept buried deep in himself for years.

He heard Italy running after him.

"Wait! I'm sorry! Don't go!"

Ludwig kept walking. His long legs guaranteed him a big advantage, even if he was only walking. A voice in his head told him he was doing the worst mistake he could ever imagine, while working nota bene on an important case. Another voice ordered the other to shut up. A third voice in his mind ordered him to stop walking. A fourth told him not to be so stupid. A fifth said he sounded pitiful.

So _weak_.

"Wait!"

A part of his mind registered the danger of offending the Mafioso like this, but before he could record it, suddenly, Ludwig's shoulder bumped into someone, and he tripped over a well-placed foot. He stumbled and fell, his other shoulder thudding against the sidewalk. His hat rolled in a semicircle around him. The blond sat up straight again, frustrated, eyes darting left and right to find the one that had made him fall. He barely noticed, before he turned around a corner, the man that had been reading a book on a bench earlier. Ludwig grimaced. So he had been right after all.

Italy suddenly appeared by his side, panting a little. He shook his head and hand in front of him, bowing a little.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that! Really! Please accept my apologies!" Italy said quickly, concern filling his eyes as he looked at the fallen German.

Ludwig blinked. Antonio had been more right than he had thought possible. The Boss of the local mafia was _apologizing_ to him, the detective hired to hunt him down! And why? Because he had offended him unintentionally?! It almost didn't sound credible.

"I'm really sorry! I'll never mention it again, I promise!" Vargas insisted. He offered a hand to him.

Ludwig stared at the hand, before slowly taking it. He stood up, and Italy bent down to get the fallen hat. He dusted it off, and gave it back to him, a hesitant smile on his features.

"…_Danke_." Ludwig muttered after a couple of seconds, taking the hat and replacing it upon his head again.

The Italian looked down. "…Please don't hate me…" he muttered so low it obviously had not been meant to be heard.

Again, the German was dumbstruck. What did he say? Don't hate him?! His logical brain started working right again, and he elaborated the comeback, as illogical as it might sound to him.

"I… I don't hate you." He forced out of his lips, trying to sound friendly.

Italy looked up again, an incredulous look on his face. "Really?"

"…_Ja_." Ludwig glanced elsewhere. Vargas was beaming like a child on Christmas morning. And an illogical part of him felt horrible for lying to someone who looked so innocent.

"Oh, what a relief! Thank you! Let's talk about something else, then! Uh, what have you already seen of my city?" Italy asked, quickly changing the subject and doing as if nothing had happened.

What? Oh, that's right, he was supposed to be a tourist.

"…Nothing yet." He admitted.

"Follow me then! I'll show you!" Italy exclaimed again, and they started walking.

Ludwig didn't forget he had a job to do. He elaborated a question, trying to sound as innocent as possible.

"Why are you doing this?" He asked. "I mean, buying me breakfast, a suit, showing me around…"

"Because you're my friend now, right?" Italy proclaimed.

"…Friends…? Who would ever want to befriend a German?" Ludwig genuinely wondered.

Italy smiled again. "Who cares of what happened? It was before you were even born, right? What should I say then about my country? Italy also did his fair share of atrocities during the war… but why should I feel guilty if I wasn't even born yet? I admit that I was scared of you before, but it was because you looked intimidating and huge, not because you were German… Anyway now I'm not scared, because I came to know you, and you are a nice person!"

Ludwig felt his gut churn again. Yeah right, scared. But… the words the Italian spoke were so _nice_, so honest and genuine and of understanding. It felt so strange. He had always tried to explain the very same thing to other people, but they always stayed wary of him and his fellow Germans. _Because_ they were German. The whole of Europe hated him and his nation. And not for the wrong reasons, he knew that far too well. Americans, French, British, Spanish, Dutch, Italians…everyone immediately changed expression when they learned he was German. While this man, this criminal, this _mafia Boss_, spoke very mature and intelligent words.

He tried steering the conversation elsewhere. The fact that the Mafioso had spoken the words of understanding he had always wanted to hear made him uncomfortable. "Friends… But I don't even know your name."

Vargas remained silent for a while, as they walked. He looked down. "…I don't really have a name, anymore. I… I forgot it a long time ago. But… you can call me Italy."

Ludwig felt the strangest urge to laugh. Of _course_ he wouldn't tell him his real name. He hoped the next question would sound innocent enough.

"…Italy? Did you choose it yourself? Why such a strange one?"

Italy waited again before answering. "…I don't… really want to talk about it… Could you tell me your name instead?"  
Ludwig hesitated for a second. He said the first name that came to his mind. "Friedrich."

The Italian smiled. "Nice name! Friedrich Beilschmidt… boy, but that's a mouthful. Could I call you Fried? Or Fritz? It's easier for me, you know…"

The German shrugged.  
"Okay! Fritz it is then! Come on, let me show you the city! There are many things to visit while here, mostly palaces and churches and fountains… There is also a friar cemetery a bit on the outskirts of the city, but I don't think you enjoy macabre… it's full of almost perfectly preserved bodies, not exactly a pretty sight. So no cemeteries for the moment, there are more beautiful things to see! For example, the Cathedral! It has a beautiful story, you know? It's been a temple, a mosque and a church, so a lot of different styles are in there! When the Saracens came here they turned the temple into a mosque, then some centuries later the Normans chased them away and made it a church!" Italy enthusiastically explained, tugging his elbow again while guiding him to the supposed Cathedral.

Ludwig swallowed dryly, as he followed the Italian, not knowing what else to say.

They spent the whole morning in the Cathedral, and Ludwig had to admit, it really was amazing. It was half past noon when they exited the huge building.

"I never would have thought Normans would be _here_, of all places." Ludwig muttered. The company of the Italian had been…enjoyable, in some twisted kind of way. But whenever he caught himself relaxing around that man, he reminded himself who said man actually _was_.

Italy smiled. "Yeah, I know, right? When I think about Normans I imagine big Vikings clad in fur with horned helms, surrounded by ice! But somehow, they got here and they liked the place, so they settled down! That's why a lot of Sicilians have light blue eyes, while in the rest of south Italy most people have dark brown eyes. There is a famous palace of them here, the _Palazzo dei Normanni_, ergo the Normans' Palace. Maybe we could go there next, after lunch! Are you hungry?"

The German forced a smile on his lips again. "A little."  
"Ve, wonderful! I just know the right place where they make wonderful pasta and Limoncello! You ever tried Limoncello, Fritz?" Italy turned to look at him.

Ludwig had also to remind himself that his new identity was 'Fritz', now. Not that he wasn't used to having other names to operate undercover, but he needed to react to the name as if it were truly his. "No, can't say that I have. What is it?"

"It's a lemon liqueur! Oh, but you usually drink it after dinner, so you'll have to try it another time." Italy put a hand in his suit's pocket, a movement that made Ludwig tense up a little. But all that the Italian did was take a fountain pen out, not a gun or another weapon. Vargas also had a piece of paper, and quickly scribbled some words. Then, he gave the paper to the German.

"Here, this is the restaurant's name and address, just go down this street and then turn to the right. Also, tell Giorgio, the owner, that I said hi." Italy smiled.

Ludwig cocked an eyebrow. "You're not coming?"

The Italian shook his head, pouting a little. "No, sadly, I have to go now. I have to be somewhere… But I had so much fun this morning! I hope I can see you again soon!"

The German's mind started racing. What if it would take days to meet him again?! Kirkland would have his head on a platter if he got caught while slacking. "Can't we meet tomorrow at eight, at the Normans' Palace?"

Italy's face lit up slowly, incredulity evident in his eyes, as his smile widened. He was _beaming_. Ludwig almost felt like a cruel fraud, tricking a kid. He mentally kicked and slapped himself at the same time. This wasn't a kid. This was a criminal. Don't you ever forget it, he told himself. The simple fact that 'he had to be somewhere' was a clue of what kind of _business_ he had to attend to.

"Really? Of course! I'll see you tomorrow!" Italy Vargas chirped, happy. "But I really need to go now! _Ciao_, Fritz!" He turned and left, waving.

'Fritz' hesitantly waved back, following the Italian with his eyes. Shouldn't he follow him? Yes he should. As Italy turned around a corner, he ran after him, to see where he was headed.

But as soon as he turned the around the corner himself, the Italian was gone.

Disappeared into thin air, just like smoke.

* * *

**Phew! Here you have it! ;D Did you like it? **

**So, I started asking around my family and family friends about the Berlin Wall and all of that stuff... God, it's kind of scary to think that it all happened less than 30 years ago. Wow. Just wow. (A family friend, from south Italy, was even there in West Berlin when the Wall came down! She still has a piece of it!)**

**The whole Wall thing was...confusing, to say the least. It was complicated as hell. Whole families were torn apart for more than 20 years...!**

**First of all, Germany was divided into four parts, amongst the Allies. It was not divided into two, like I had thought. And Berlin was not on the border line between East and West! Oh no, Berlin was completely in the East, surrounded by East Germany! If you want to, here's a picture of how it was:**

**upload . wikimedia wikipedia / commons / b / bb / Deutschland _ Besatzungszonen _ 1945 . png**

**(just remove the spaces... and if it doesn't work, try copying this into Google Images: ****_Deutschland Besatzungszonen 1945 _****)**

**People of West Germany and Berlin could leave whenever they wanted, with cars or planes. While East Germany and Berlin... let's just say that Soviet Dictatorship is not really something fun... Obviously, they could not leave and go to West whenever they wanted. Turrets, machineguns, tanks, elecrified barbwire, the wall, ditches, mines... If you want to learn a bit of this strange part of history, watch these two AWESOME movies: '****_The lives of others_****', and '****_Goodbye Lenin!_****'**

**For the rest, who would have known that the Normans came to South Italy during the early years of the 1100's? XD (*imagines Sweden, Denmark and Norway going on vacation in South Italy* ...oh God XD) By the way, what is the plural of 'Norman'? Normen or Normans? I have no idea o_o**

**Dang it, sorry for the long rant. I'll stop here!  
See you next chapter, have a fantastic day! ;)**

_**Signor : **__(italian) Mister_

**_Herr: _**_(german) Mister_

**_Danke :_**_ (german) Thanks_

_**Palazzo dei Normanni : **__(italian) The Normans' Palace_


	6. Day two-huh?

**Ciao everybody! How are you all? I hope well!**

**:D**

**I'm so happy you liked the previous chapter! XD And yes, Ludwig called himself Fritz, just like Gilbert's favourite Prussian King...! **

**Anyway, here you are, with tha new chapta!  
Please sit back, und ENJOY**

* * *

Antonio sighed, as he got to his room again that evening. He had spent the whole day walking around Palermo, his feet felt like sausages. He had taken the Captain's advice, and he had bought a jacket for himself, as well as a hat. Now at least he didn't look like a broke guy.  
And he had not encountered Vargas. He hoped Ludwig had had more luck than him.

He took a quick shower, and he was about to go to the German's room to hear if he had had more luck, when he heard a soft knock on his door.

"Huh? Who is it?" he asked, even if he already knew who it was.

"It's me." The German grunted from the other side. Antonio quickly unlocked the door and let him in. He immediately noticed the new clothes he was wearing.  
"Wow, nice suit!" The Spaniard smiled. But then he noticed the blond was glaring at him. "Whoa! What did I say wrong?!" Antonio exclaimed, bringing up both hands and taking a step backwards.

Ludwig stared at him for a couple of seconds, and then sighed, shaking his head. "Nothing. Could I sit down a second?"

Antonio frowned. "Sure." He motioned for the bed. The German entered, and Antonio closed the door, locking it shut. You never knew. He sat down on the only chair of the room, and noticed the blond looked tired. "I guess your day went good? You met him, right?"

Ludwig slowly nodded, looking at the floor, elbows resting on his knees. "_Ja_. I met him alright. And I have to admit… your theory is more right than I thought."

Antonio remained silent. The German didn't look too well.

Ludwig swallowed, took a deep breath and told him what had happened that morning.

The Spaniard honestly didn't get why the other looked so tired and…well, not good. "So it means the plan is going alright! Isn't that wonderful? I felt pretty useless the whole day, I didn't do anything!"

Ludwig remained silent, looking at the floor, fingers intertwined.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Antonio asked, worried.

"…Nothing." Ludwig stated. "Nothing. Anyway, after that, I went to have lunch, and walked the whole afternoon so I could acquaint myself more with the city. Turns out, everyone apparently already knows I'm Vargas' new 'best friend'."

"Seriously?" Antonio blinked.

"Yes. No one bumped into me, no one tried to mug me, every place I stopped in I would immediately be asked what I would like. It was frustrating." Ludwig muttered, lips set in a straight line. Then, he stood up. "I think… I will go to bed now. I have to wake up early tomorrow, because I have an appointment with Vargas in the morning. I think you should follow us discreetly to see if you can find something. Especially when he leaves, try and follow him."  
"Roger! Goodnight!" the Spaniard smiled, saluting like a soldier. Ludwig shook his head and went to sleep.

* * *

That night, the phone on Arthur's dresser rang. The Brit groaned, and reached out an arm to get the bloody phone. He licked his lips and swallowed, before answering.

"Hello?" he croaked, eyes still closed.

"_Pronto? Captain?_"

Arthur groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I hope it is important, Delisi. It's bloody late." He glanced at the alarm clock beside the phone. 00.47 am.  
"_I know sir, and I'm sorry to disturb you, sir. But I have received strange information from my men._"

"What kind of strange information?" Arthur asked, sighing as he propped himself a little on his elbow.

"_Vargas has found a new buddy, apparently. A 1.90 metres tall, big, blond, German buddy._"

Arthur opened his eyes, immediately awake. "What?"  
"_Yes. I'm aware that no one knows about him or…the other one, but still, what should I tell the men? How should they behave with him?_"

The Brit took a minute to think calmly about it. What the hell were those two thinking?! He really hoped they knew what they were doing.

"Do nothing."

"_Excuse me, sir? Do nothing?_"

"Treat him as if he were a criminal. If he chose to work like this, he will also be aware of the consequences. Of course, we will do nothing, but _if_ something happens, the men must think he is one of them. It will be all the more credible for whatever façade they are planning to do. I trust their judgement on this."

The other line remained silent.

"Delisi, are you still there? It's an order, understood? Do not do anything. Treat him like one of them."

"_Yessir. What about the other?_"

"If he starts behaving like that too, reserve him the same treatment like with the German. Otherwise, just ignore him."

"_Yessir_"

"Goodnight, Delisi."

"_Goodnight, sir._"

Arthur hung up the phone and laid himself down on the bed again. He sighed as he closed his eyes. He dearly hoped the two detectives knew what they were doing. They were playing with fire… and he just hoped they wouldn't burn themselves.

* * *

The next day, Ludwig sighed as he put his new grey hat on his hair. He stared at his reflection in the small mirror of his room.

Antonio had already left, and was probably already walking around the Palace. With a new hat and jacket, the Spaniard looked completely different from the first day he had met him. Luckily.

He sighed again, and left the room.

Half an hour later, he was at the Normans' Palace. And Italy Vargas was already waiting for him, hand behind his back while looking at the sky.

Why, of all people, did he… enjoy the company of a the _mafia Boss_? He mentally slapped himself. He was here to catch that criminal. Not to enjoy his company.

"Ve, good morning, Fritz!" The Italian chirped as soon as he noticed his presence.

Ludwig forced a smile on his face. "Good morning, Italy."

They entered the Palace, and Ludwig had to repeat the same sentence in his mind multiple times, like some kind of mantra.

_He's just a criminal, and you're here to catch him._

* * *

Antonio really enjoyed his stay at the Palace. He stared for a long time at the beautiful golden mosaics of the Palatine Chapel, he couldn't get enough of them. They had a kind of magic air about them, he felt as if he had gone back in the past.

But he drastically snapped back to reality when he noticed a big blond man with a grey suit, accompanied by a man in a black striped suit.

He quickly hid behind a column, and started his stalking mission. Discreetly. He lightly touched the gun under his left armpit, well-hidden thanks to the jacket. It was a brand-new French model he had received from his Parisian friend, a MAB PA-15. It was a wonderful and powerful weapon, he had to admit it, but he didn't like it. He would never, ever like guns. But he had to carry the wretched piece of metal with him, he knew his job wasn't one of the safest around. And he knew that the German would have one with him also.

Antonio observed Italy scrupulously. He was actually kind of disappointed. Italy Vargas was in his 'non-offensive' mood, apparently, because he kept smiling and talking excitedly while pointing at the different things in the Palace. He looked much, much better than the time he had met him in the café. To be honest, he looked adorable like a kid. But something… didn't add up. Antonio frowned, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. However, in the meantime, he noticed Ludwig was doing a wonderful job, Italy looked very happy of his company.

There were other people visiting the Palace of course, but Antonio noticed a young boy following the other two also, pretending to read the guide of the Palace. The boy would occasionally glance at the Italian, making sure he was alright and not leaving his eyesight. Antonio frowned a little. Of course, the mafia Boss would never go anywhere alone. He grimaced; the boy looked so young, not even twenty. Antonio made sure not to be noticed by him, and hid in the crowd.

He followed the two for a couple of hours through the whole Palace. Boy, the thing was huge! Then he exited earlier, and waited for the two to come out of the building.

Finally, Ludwig and Italy appeared. After a minute of Italy ranting and flapping his hands around excitedly, they headed both down the street. Antonio didn't see the boy with the guide anywhere. Of course, there would be other men around the streets for that. He swallowed, and started following them discreetly, blending into the crowd. Fortunately, he was good at it. He smiled to himself.

He looked at the two again, and noticed they had stopped in a restaurant to eat. Wow, Ludwig received a five-star treatment, he was kind of getting jealous. He settled himself in a bar not too far away, munching on a sandwich.

After lunch, Ludwig and Italy started walking around the city, the Italian pointing at fountains, buildings and statues, telling their stories. And apparently, Ludwig was following the stories Italy was telling with genuine interest.

Antonio yawned.

Somewhere around half past six, the Italian made some different movements with his hands, which snapped back Antonio from his half-sleeping state.

While standing beside a fountain, Italy was still smiling, but apologetically. He was pointing at somewhere and making vague gestures with his hands. Huh? Ludwig was nodding.

Italy then turned away, waving at the German, saying goodbye.

Antonio was immediately alert. He had to grasp this opportunity or it would all have been for nothing! Somehow, Italy needed to go somewhere in his direction, so he turned his back to the fountain, Ludwig and Italy, and started walking down the street.

It had been a lucky bet. And the hat and the jacket had been a good idea, Italy Vargas didn't recognize him. He saw the Mafioso walk quickly past him, and then turn around a corner in an alley.

_Now I got you_. Antonio smirked, and turned into the alley as well. He briefly saw a black clad leg before it disappeared behind a corner. He quickened his pace, and continued following him.

It went on like this for a while. Antonio sometimes had to run for a few metres to catch up with Vargas, otherwise he'd lose him. Sometimes instead he didn't even need to see him to continue following him, as the alleys made twists and turns but didn't split.

But then… the catastrophe!  
Antonio flared his nostrils, as he stared wide-eyed at the fork in the alleys. One way to the right, one to the left.

He had lost him.

Nonononono… no! Ludwig would kill him! Or probably beat him senseless, and then… the British Captain would finish the job!  
He frantically looked left and right to see any clue of where the Mafioso had disappeared to. He was tempted to go to the right, but that was because there was a line with spread out sexy lingerie. He shook his head. Focus, Antonio!

He heard a sound coming from the left, and the decision was made. He dearly hoped he hadn't lost him yet. He wasn't running, but his pace was quick. He heard something metallic creak.

He finally turned around the corner and found himself in a miniature plaza squeezed between the buildings. There was probably just enough space for a car. But there were already three men in it.

Two were as tall as bears, while the one between them…

He immediately recognized the black striped suit of the man he had been following. And he also immediately recognized the very great danger he was in, in exact that moment. He stopped dead on his tracks, luckily none of the three had noticed him yet, as their backs were turned to him.

But then of course they heard him, and they all turned around.

Antonio swallowed, as he stared at the two gigantic henchmen. These two were on the 'confirmed' list, he had seen the pictures of their ugly faces. And there was no doubt in who the man between them was.

Italy Vargas bared his teeth at him. "Who the fuck are _you?_" he snarled.

The Spaniard swallowed again. Damn, he had switched mood. This was the 'offensive' side of Italy. The face was the same, but it was scowling, eyes narrowed.

He was in deep, _deep_ trouble. The two massive henchmen had forearms as thick as tree trunks, and he barely caught a glimpse of the rectangular form of a Beretta strapped under their armpits.

And there were no witnesses around.

They were all alone.

Antonio managed to smile awkwardly, rubbing his head. He made sure to look oblivious of everything, like he always did. Or else he'd probably die there.

"I…er, hi there! Sorry if I barged in so suddenly, but I got lost… and I was kind of panicking… Luckily, I finally found somebody!"

Vargas frowned, and reached for something in his pocket. Antonio's gut churned, but he forced his smile not to falter. Italy took out the hand from the pocket, but he didn't extract a gun. He had a toothpick between his fingers. He swiftly put the tiny piece of wood in his mouth, biting on it. Vargas frowned again, cocking his head to one side and taking a step towards him.

"Do I know you…?"

Antonio saw his way out of that terrifying situation, and immediately seized his opportunity.

"Er, I don't think…wait, now I remember! I met you at the café yesterday!" He exclaimed, smiling broadly, feigning he hadn't recognized the man. "What a relief! Now at least I can get out of these creepy alleys…!"

Vargas blinked, taken aback, as he recognized him. He scanned him from head to toe. "Where the fuck did you steal those clothes from?"

"I bought them…" Antonio pouted, offended.

Vargas cocked an eyebrow. "Stop bullshitting me. Where did you steal those clothes."

"I said, I bought them! I can afford that, you know?" The Spaniard retorted. He mentally slapped himself. _Careless moron! Now you'll have your guts spilled in an alley. Way to go, Antonio._

Italy seemed surprised at the comeback, but didn't say anything. He bit on his toothpick. "…Then why didn't you tell me?"

Antonio shrugged, smiling broadly. "Well…You didn't ask now, did you?"

The Mafioso remained silent. Then, "Leave us alone." he said to the two other men.

"…But-"

"_Leave. Us._" Italy growled, biting on the toothpick again. The two thugs hurriedly got into an alley – Antonio briefly wondered how they could even fit through – out of ear reach, but they were still watching them.

Vargas took a deep breath, rolling his head up to face the sky.

Antonio was still very uncomfortable. He didn't feel safe at all, even if the French gun was pressed to the side of his torso and the two gorillas weren't towering over him anymore. "Er… who are those guys? Friends of yours?" He hesitantly asked, trying to sound as innocent and clueless as possible. He did not want to make him angry, especially not now that he was in the 'offensive' mood.

Italy's head got down again and he started looking at him, eyes half-lidded. "Just my chauffeur and bodyguard."

The Spaniard made a low whistle, acting as if he were impressed. Yeah, right. Those two were a _chauffeur_ and a _bodyguard_. "Wow, you must be rich. Well of course, with such an expensive suit you must be."

Vargas stared at him, puzzled. "Yes. I am an important man."

Antonio blinked, smirking. "An important man? Really?"

"…You haven't heard of me?"

"Nope! By the way, I want to thank you again for the breakfast! I know I didn't look too good yesterday, but I had travelled all night, so… sorry, I guess?" Antonio said, probing and feeling the situation hesitantly, guessing what he should say and what not. He felt as if he were walking on hundreds of eggs; and if he cracked a single one of them, they would all explode under his feet.

"…Sorry my ass." Vargas said, unimpressed.

Antonio blinked. "Huh?"

"_You tricked me." He hissed, eyes glinting menacingly as they narrowed._

The Spaniard felt his heart sink. No, no, no! This wasn't supposed to happen! "W-what?"

Then, something unexpected and strange at the same time happened.

The Mafioso started laughing. "Hahahahaha! You should have seen the stupid look on your dumb face! Priceless! Hahahahahahaha!"

Antonio could breathe again. "That… that was mean! You scared me!"  
Vargas continued laughing, and dramatically did as if he had shed a tear. "Oh God, you are so dumb."

Antonio mentally sighed out of relief. He had made the impression of the harmless idiot again. "I repeat, that was mean. Why would you do that?!"

The Italian snorted, and then patted him on his shoulder. "You amuse me. Let's have a drink, so you can also _recover_ from the fucking _mean_ scare, hm?"

"I guess… but then I want to know you better!" Antonio exclaimed. He thought, why couldn't he and Ludwig do the same job? He felt pretty useless, only stalking around while the German had all the entertainment and thrill of the mission of 'befriending' the Mafioso.

"The fuck are you talking about?" Vargas cocked an eyebrow.

"I don't know the city too much, you could tell me about it! And I'd love to have a friend here, no?" The Spaniard enthusiastically said. He hoped he wasn't pushing his luck too far.

Italy seemed to ponder the – not so veiled – suggestion, face sour again. "I honestly don't want to put up with you, you clingy fucker. And definitely not today. I just have time for a damn drink. Let me tell those two assholes that they have to wait."

He went to the two thugs, and talked briefly with them. The two headed down the alley, while Italy turned back to him, biting on the toothpick again. He walked past him, in another alley, not even waiting for him.

"The fuck are you standing there for, moron? Follow me or you'll get fucking lost again, knowing your lack of brains." He shouted, not even looking back at him. Antonio blinked and hurriedly followed him.

The sun slowly set, tinting the sky orange and violet. Two people were seated outside a café, one drinking orange juice, the other a glass of Sambuca.

"So, ahem, my name is Antonio Chavez Saucedo! What is your name? I don't think I quite caught it the first time we met…" Antonio said, using two surnames that vaguely resembled his real ones.

Vargas looked at him, blinked once, and set his glass down. "Why the flying shit do you have two surnames? Isn't one damn fucking surname enough already?" he said, scowling.

Antonio smiled awkwardly. "Well, I don't know, it's just like this in Spain… everyone has two surnames, the first of the two is the paternal one, while the second is from the mother…"

"Pretty fucking dumb and uselessly complicated if you ask me." Vargas shrugged, finishing his drink.

"Well, it's just different… but you didn't answer me! What's your name?" the Spaniard asked, smiling broadly.

Vargas slowly stood up, and took his wallet out. He stopped mid-movement, staring at his hands.

_Why the fuck am I even doing this_, the Mafioso asked himself.

"…My name… is Italy Vargas. And don't you start bitching about the fact that it is not a real name. I know that already. But it's like this, okay? I'm leaving now, and I'm paying again. And don't you dare say shit about it." Italy snarled, biting the toothpick for the umpteenth time, so hard that it broke. "Fuck." He spat the toothpick on the ground, as he got a pair of bills out of the wallet.

But when he looked up from the black wallet, he saw the Spaniard had called the waiter and paid already.

Italy's eyes widened. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" He growled.

"W-what does it look like?! I paid!" Antonio said, shrinking back in the chair.

"Why did you even-… Aah, you know what? Forget it! I'm not dealing with this shit anymore." Vargas growled, putting the wallet back and turning to walk away.

"Wait!" Antonio stood up. Why did he even say that? He should be glad he had finally shaken off the Mafioso…! But still, some stupid part of him told him to act like that.

"Sit the fuck down, Spaniard. I have to be somewhere, and you're not invited to the party. It's sad, isn't it, _huh?!_" Italy snapped at him, fuming, still walking away.

The Italian's reaction and behaviour bugged him, somehow. And he still needed to stalk this man to see where he was headed to! He started following him nonetheless. "But-"

"Shut up!" Vargas shouted, starting to run down the street. A black Rolls Royce appeared out of nowhere and stopped just in front of the Mafioso with screeching tires. The car door flew open, and Italy jumped in it. The door closed shut and the motor of the English car roared, and in a blink of an eye, it was gone.

Antonio slowly stopped running, and then bent over, hands on his knees.

"Dang it…!" He panted. Then, he straightened up again, as he frowned. "But… what was that all about…?"

His eyes widened. Vargas had talked about a 'party'…

"Oh no…" He whispered, staring at the direction in which the car had disappeared to. He started running back to the hotel as fast as his feet could carry him.

* * *

**Well, shit.**

**Anyway, I hope you liked the chapter! :D**

**I'm leaving again for south Italy, so I'll be without internet, ERGO no uploads for a while! The good news is, I'll be able to write as much as I like! 0w0**

**So yeah, I wish you all a wonderful holiday, and I'll see you next time! :D**

**Hasta la pasta!**

**...**

_**MAB PA-15 : **__a French pistol designed in 1975, it can hold 15 bullets._

**_Sambuca :_**_ Italian anise-flavoured, usually colourless, liqueur. Varieties: White Sambuca(most common), Black Sambuca(it's deep blue), Red Sambuca (bright red)._


	7. What the hell!

**Ciao everybody!**

**Here, you get a bonus chapter before I leave! Wohoooo! 8D**

**I hope you like it!  
Please sit back, und ENJOY.**

* * *

Antonio started banging his fists against Ludwig's door.  
"Ludwig! It's me, open up!"

The German opened a couple of moments later, looking at him interrogatively. "What is-"

The Spaniard didn't even wait for him to finish, and entered the room. "Quick, we have to call Kirkland!"

Ludwig frowned, closing the door and remaining calm. "What are you talking about?" The German scanned the other man. He was panting, his forehead was beaded with sweat and his clothes were dishevelled. "What has gotten into you!?"

Antonio swallowed. "We have to call Kirkland!"  
"Repeating the same sentence doesn't make it any clearer for me!" Ludwig barked.

The Spaniard took a deep breath, trying to calm down. "It…It's Italy. He's up to something, tonight!"  
"Wait, you met him?" The blond asked.

"Yes! But that doesn't matter right now! I just _know_ something is going to happen tonight!" Antonio exclaimed. Didn't the German understand how urgent the situation was!?

"How do you know that… that 'something' will happen tonight?" Ludwig asked.

Antonio was exasperating. How could he remain so. Freaking. Calm!?

"He practically told me! I do not know exactly what he's planning, but we have to warn the Captain!"

Ludwig seemed to ponder the sentence a little, but then shook his head. "_Nein_."

Antonio was taken aback. "What? Why?!"

"You can't be sure something will happen tonight, Antonio! We can't risk the whole operation like this! So what, we warn the Captain, and what then? Should he deploy men over the whole city? Looking for what? It will be useless, they won't find anything. They haven't found anything in two years, what makes you think tonight will be any different? But _we_ will be discovered in no time like this! And then, goodbye any hope of catching Italy."

Antonio stared at him, not believing his ears. "So you're just saying we have to _wait!?_ To stay put!?"

Ludwig sighed. "As much as it pains me to say it… yes. Our mission is to get proof of Vargas committing crimes, and calling the Captain would blow everything."

The Spaniard fell on the bed, staring wide-eyed at Ludwig. "You've got to be kidding me…" then he buried his face in his hands.

Ludwig slowly neared him, and put a hand on his shoulder. "I know how you feel."

Antonio's head snapped up, as he was about to reply, but the expression of the blond stopped him. It wasn't the emotionless statue-like face he usually had. His face and his eyes told him he really understood.

"Believe me, I know. I know you feel powerless. Weak. Useless… and guilty, because you can't stop this 'something'. But trust me. Calling the Captain would only ruin our chances of getting evidence out of the Boss." Ludwig slowly said.

Antonio stared at him, eyes wide still. He took a deep breath, and exhaled, shivering. He closed his eyes, and swallowed. "You're right. I'm sorry. I… I got carried away." He admitted. "But it still doesn't change that… something will happen tonight."

"And we will know what exactly happened _tomorrow_, like all normal people. Normal people who aren't trying to sneak into a criminal organisation." The blond stated, his expression cold again.

"…Yes…"

Antonio felt the weight of the French pistol strapped against his torso.

He inhaled deeply, and slowly exhaled.

"…Rest, Antonio. Get a good night sleep. It will calm you down." The German suggested.

The Spaniard nodded, and left the room swiftly.

Antonio spent the next couple of hours tossing and turning in his bed, ending up with staring at the ceiling of his bedroom. And little did he know that his colleague was doing exactly the same thing, across the corridor.

* * *

The next morning, Captain Kirkland literally wanted to strangle somebody.

First he had wanted to strangle Delisi, who had woken him up early that morning, even before the sun had gotten up. Then he had wanted to strangle the man who just kept talking by the exit, so he could not get out of his damn condominium. Finally, he ended up to wanting to strangle a certain well-known man of Palermo who walked around with the pseudonym of a nation.

Arthur limited himself to tighten the grip around his hot cup of tea, as Delisi explained to him what had happened.

There had been a shootout, somewhere in the outskirts of Palermo. A score that needed to be settled, probably. Four men had been murdered in that street.

"Vargas and his henchmen probably approached the victims with a vehicle, and then fired with machineguns. Likely from the windows of the car. Again-"

"…No witnesses, and no survivors. No number plate of the vehicle." Arthur finished for his Lieutenant.

"…No, sir."

"And I bet that if we asked Vargas, he would have a bloody alibi." The Captain continued.

Delisi remained silent, disappointed as much as his superior.

"Sod it." Arthur muttered, scowling.

He consoled himself with the fact that there was still hope. Whatever Beilschmidt and Carriedo were planning, he trusted those two to finally get him. The bloody bastard.

He didn't even realize he was burning the palm of his hand by gripping the cup too tightly.

* * *

The next morning, Ludwig sighed as he exited the hotel. He had barely slept that night. He knew how Antonio felt. That feeling of being powerless to stop something… he knew it all too well.

_Stop pitying yourself. _He ordered himself, as he walked to a bar to get breakfast.

Antonio had wanted to make a stroll around the city again, and discover what had happened. Ludwig had simply shrugged. He had to find Italy Vargas again.

As he drank his coffee, Ludwig noticed there were no newspapers on the tables. He frowned. How was he supposed to learn what had happened that night? Strange, usually there would be a lot of newspapers, in every café. He shrugged. He'd buy a newspaper somewhere. Even if he couldn't understand Italian that much, a picture and a few sentences would already be helpful. If anything, he could bring the newspaper to Antonio to get it translated.

But as the day proceeded, he started noticing that somehow, in every place he went, there wouldn't be newspapers. Nothing. If he walked to a news-stand, the newspapers would disappear in a blink of an eye, that is, if they even were there. Even the televisions in bars were somehow all tuned on some uninteresting channel. As for the radios, every time he would get near one, someone would start turning the buttons until all you heard was static.

He gritted his teeth, irritated.  
Italy didn't want him to know what happened, huh? That was kind of obvious. Well, he would ask him himself as soon as he'd see him.

That afternoon, he finally found the Mafioso. Or rather, he _was_ found by him. Again.

"Hello, Fritz!" Italy exclaimed, nearing him with a small bounce in his steps. He looked a bit more tired than the day before, slightly darker rings under his eyes.

It took all Ludwig's self-control not to extract his pistol and arrest the Italian right there and then. He couldn't do that, it would be useless. He would walk again without any effort. Actually, such a reckless action would probably land _him_ in jail, for unwarranted threats and/or violence. He took a deep breath, feeling the familiar weight of his Walther P5 under his left armpit.

Keep calm.

"Hello, Italy." He forced himself to smile. It would be a long day.

* * *

That evening, after having dinner, they started walking around the yellow-lit streets. After something that felt like centuries, Ludwig finally found the courage to ask the Mafioso the bomb-question.

"Hey Italy…"  
"Hm?"

"Do you know what happened yesterday? Everyone seemed to make such a fuss about it, but somehow I wasn't lucky enough to grab a newspaper in time. I can't read Italian anyway, but I was just curious."

"Something happened yesterday?" Italy asked sweetly. "Sorry, but I don't know anything about it…"

Dear God, Ludwig wanted to punch him so badly. He almost didn't know anymore who was tricking who.

"Oh, okay… never mind, then." He huffed.

"Hmm, Fritz? Can I ask you something?" The Italian asked.

"…Sure."

"Did you-"

Suddenly, Italy stopped dead on his tracks. Ludwig looked at him, confused, but then followed his gaze to…

To a man holding a gun, standing not even five metres from them. Ludwig's eyes widened. The man's shirt was tattered, and there was a hole in his trousers, somewhere around his knee. In various places, his clothes had dark stains. A strong smell reached Ludwig's nostrils. Blood.

Fresh red blood, that ran down the man's forehead in a small single rivulet.

"_Tu…_" The man wheezed, wide and mad eyes glaring at Vargas.

Ludwig's instincts kicked in, and he stepped in front of the Italian, left arm raised sideways. Why was he even doing that?! _Protecting a mafia Boss, way to go, Ludwig,_ he told himself. But he didn't care. The man in front of him was not himself, and he was clearly dangerous. There were people all around them, someone could get hurt. And if it turned out too bad, he would be able to reach for his pistol easily like this.

"_…Mostro…_" the man gasped, voice raspy. He slowly raised the gun, pointing it at Italy. Ludwig heard the Italian behind him wince.

Ludwig's soldier-like mind started working again. His eyes quickly analyzed the man in front of him. The man wasn't stable on his feet. He had been kneecapped, so standing straight must have already been difficult and painful. The small rivulet of blood dripped down his left brow, forcing the man to blink repeatedly. His eyes were wild and darting from Ludwig to Vargas, and he looked feverish. He had at least three other bullet wounds as well, and judging from the man's paleness, he had lost quite a lot of blood already. Last but not least, he held the gun with both hands, arms completely stretched out and elbows firmly locked. It was clear this man had never used a gun in his whole life, and to add to it all, his hands were trembling.

"Sir, you clearly are not yourself, put the gun down before somebody gets hurt." Ludwig stated, his voice flat, trying to knock some sense into the man.

"..._Levati di mezzo, crucco di merda!_" the man suddenly exclaimed, waving the gun left and right dangerously, eyes wide. Ludwig didn't understand what the other had said, except for one word. He grimaced. The Italian swear word for German. _Crucco_.

Ludwig scowled, looking around. They were on a freaking street, and there were people around them. Many were hurriedly running away, others were frozen in place, others hid behind parked cars and others still stood there, watching. If a mafia Boss had always henchmen around protecting him, where were they when he needed them?! They would be quite useful right there and then! But no one of the crowd moved towards them.

The man started coughing hoarsely, and Ludwig saw that he was coughing up blood. And that he was distracted.

_Now!_ His brain ordered him.

Ludwig jumped forward to knock the gun away from the wounded man, but somehow he had miscalculated. The man was that tad further away than he had predicted.

The man had all the time to stop coughing and point the gun at him while he was in mid-stride. Ludwig's right hand quickly and unerringly went for the Walther P5, while the other man's finger was about to pull the trigger.

Ludwig suddenly felt something push him aside and to the ground, right after he had gotten his gun out and had pointed it to the man.

He heard two gunshots, one from his own pistol, the other from the man's.

The man cried out in pain, losing his grip on the gun and clutching his chest, where a new bullet hole had opened itself.

He hit the ground with his right shoulder, another body falling on him, yelping.

Ludwig groaned as he hit the sidewalk, but then blinked. He felt something wet and sticky somewhere around his side, but he wasn't hurt. What in the heavens…?

He propped himself on his elbow, first to look at the man. He had to make sure he wouldn't shoot again. He wasn't moving anymore. People had started screaming because of the shots, and were running away.

Ludwig turned to look at the person who had shoved him aside and was now weighing on him.

Italy Vargas.

He felt the urge to scowl. Ah, the irony. Saving the criminal he was supposed to hunt down.

Italy looked up, and weakly smiled. "Are…are you okay?" he asked, a sweat drop rolling down his forehead.

The German slowly nodded, panting a little because of the adrenaline.

Italy's smile widened. "I see… I'm glad…for that…"

Ludwig's eyes widened as Italy rolled down from him, revealing a dark wet stain spreading like ink in his already dark clothes and on the sidewalk.

His brain overloaded.

It didn't make sense.

It didn't make any sense at all!

He vaguely heard somebody yelling about an '_ambulanza_'. Ambulance.

Everything happened too fast for him to record. He vaguely registered that he was in an ambulance himself, but all he could see was his grey suit's jacket, stained with the Italian's blood.

* * *

**Well, shit.**

**Oh well, I hope you liked the chapter! I'm picking up the pace a little, I hope you don't mind X3**

**Oh and if you are confused about the bloody man's identity, everything will be explained in the next chapter, don't worry...**

**Anyway! I'm leaving (for real) now! I wish you all nice holidays, and see you next chapter! ;D**

**...**

_**Walther P5 : **__it's a recoil-operated, locked-breech, 9 mm semi-automatic and very accurate German pistol. Designed in 1970._

**_Tu...:_**_ (italian) You..._

**_Mostro... :_**_ (italian) Monster..._

**_Levati di mezzo, crucco di merda! : _**_(italian) Get out of the way, German shit! (lit. Kraut of shit)_

**_Crucco :_**_ (italian) Italian adaption of the Croatian word 'kruh', which means 'bread'. The word comes from WWI, when Italian soldiers started using this word to address the Austrian prisoners of Croatian nationality. These prisoners weren't fed well, and so continuously asked the Italian wardens for bread, 'kruh'. Nowadays it is used to address people or objects of general Germanic origins; often used as pejorative, sometimes ironically or playfully. English equivalent : "Kraut"._

**_Ambulanza :_**_ (italian) Ambulance_


	8. Conflict

**Ciao everybody!**

**I'm just back from south Italy, and as promised, here's the new chapter! :D**

**However, I also have to tell you all that I'm leaving ****_again_****, so... *sad face* no uploads again for a while... (London, here I come! 8D)**

**I promise that once september begins, I'll be more regular, updating weekly like I did with Nightmare Apocalypse! *nod nod***

**Anyway, this being said, here's the chapter! :D**

**Please sit back, und ENJOY.**

* * *

Antonio wandered around the outskirts of the city, that morning. He didn't have any plan in mind, to be honest, he just wanted to know what Vargas had meant with 'party', that night.

But somehow, he couldn't found any newspaper around, and the Sicilians refused to talk to him.

Spending fifteen minutes with the mafia Boss had already marked him as undesirable, apparently.

He probably had an enormous red 'X' on his forehead that everybody knew about.

He sighed, stuffing his hands deeply in his pockets. He looked up at the sun. Wow, he had wasted the whole morning trying to find a damn newspaper: it was half past noon already.

Antonio's eyes widened, however, when he walked into an apparently random street.

Apparently.

Because there were three police cars, one ambulance and a small crowd, gathered around a single spot. The Spaniard slowly edged nearer, suddenly not really knowing if he wanted to know. But this was probably what he had set out to find in the first place, he could not back down now, could he?

This was the… the 'party' Italy had been talking about.

Yet, something bugged him. Again. The reaction of the Italian that evening seemed so unjustified. He had sounded sarcastic, about the 'party'. As if he hadn't even wanted to be there.

Antonio shrugged. It was probably only his impression. Why wouldn't a psychopathic killer want to be here? To do…whatever happened.

As soon as Antonio got nearer to the 'do not cross' lines, he recoiled instinctively at the sight.

It looked as if some crazy artist had wanted to re-paint the wall of the building in dark red, along with the sidewalk. The blood however had clotted, and thus had turned black. Many bullet holes marred the side of the building, and some pieces of wall had crumbled.

Two men were carrying a dead body into the ambulance, the Spaniard saw a white hand dangling from under the white sheet covering the corpse. But Antonio knew that that amount of blood must have come from at least four people, maybe more.

He grimaced, wrinkling his nose.

So this had been the 'party'. How… how horrible. He really had no other words to describe such a massacre.

"Alright people, go home, there's nothing more to see here!" A policeman suddenly started waving his arms around as the doors of the ambulance were shut. "Go home!" He continued, talking in Italian.

Antonio didn't know what to do. Should he ask questions to the police? So he could discover what had happened? Well, it didn't look that complicated, to be honest. It had probably been a score that needed to be settled. But it wouldn't hurt to ask…

He took a few steps closer to the policeman. He was ready to ask a question, when the policeman's dark eyes widened as he looked at something behind Antonio. The Spaniard blinked, confused.

"Did you come to enjoy the show, _mister Vargas?_" the policeman asked, glacial.

A voice Antonio knew all too well answered from behind him. "…Not really. I was just… curious. What happened?"

The policeman scowled. "…No _details_ released to the _public_, mister Vargas. Now leave, we have to clean the place up."

Antonio turned to look at the person behind him, even if he already knew who it was.

Italy Vargas stood with his back straight, arms folded over his chest. In his mouth there was the toothpick again. As soon as the Spaniard had turned around, Vargas recognized him.

"What the fuck are _you_ doing here?" He asked, frowning, as he stepped back from the crime scene.

Antonio shrugged. "I…I don't know, I was just making a stroll when I ran into this. I wonder what happened… how horrible, so much blood…" He added, wanting to get a reaction out of the Mafioso.

No such thing. Italy's face remained straight. Well, he was scowling while staring at the crime scene, but that was his normal face when he was in his 'offensive' mood, apparently.

So Antonio was kind of surprised when he actually answered him.

"Yes, it _is_ fucking sick."

The Spaniard blinked, not expecting that. Italy admitted himself that what he had done was sick? He quickly composed himself though. It was probably only the act to appear 'normal' to the Spaniard.

Antonio nodded. "Yeah…"

He took a moment to analyze the man. His suit didn't have a single wrinkle or tugged thread, it looked as if he were ready for a wedding. The only thing that gave him away slightly was the couple of slightly darker rings under his eyes.

"Creepface, you're staring at me again." Vargas scowled.

Antonio blinked again. "Whoa, sorry! It's just… I think my stomach is a little queasy…" he admitted. The metallic smell of blood was still lingering in the air, in spite of the fact that the massacre had been probably perpetrated during the night. And he hated that smell, it couldn't remind you of good things, obviously.

"…Then don't fucking go look at a crime scene, idiot. You do look paler than a damn mozzarella. Go and drink some water, there's a fountain over there." Italy grumbled, pointing. Antonio thought it might be a good idea, he really didn't feel that good around blood. It made him nauseous. At least it had clotted up, so it had lost its original colour. Even if he was a detective, and so saw blood almost on a daily basis, he hadn't gotten used to it. At all. He probably never would.

He curtly nodded, and dragged his feet to the small cylinder by the sidewalk, and cupped his hands to get some fresh water. He splashed some onto his sweated face, and then got some more to drink. When he was finished, he straightened up and wiped his eyes from the water. He looked around, searching for the Mafioso.

But he had disappeared into thin air, just like smoke.

A single, muttered curse escaped his lips.

"_Joder._"

He wandered around Palermo looking for the Italian the whole afternoon, but couldn't find him anywhere. Maybe he was with Ludwig. Hmm, probably. He hoped the German would be able to cope with the 'offensive' mood of Italy. Or maybe he would switch moods just in between. He briefly wondered what could be the trigger of his mood swings. He had heard of magicians, who snapped fingers or whistled after they had hypnotized somebody. It didn't seem likely, however… He chewed the inside of his cheek.

Antonio returned to the crime scene shortly after that. Until the sunset, he tried gathering clues about what had happened at the 'party', because he still couldn't find a newspaper anywhere, or a TV tuned right or even a radio.

Slowly but steadily, he learned what had happened.

At least four people had died in that street, killed with machineguns. _Many_ machineguns, judging from the amount of holes in the wall of that building. He had also noticed that the pool of black blood had been spread a little on the dark grey asphalt, as if a wheel had driven through it. Probably a vehicle. Even more probably, the Rolls Royce Vargas had jumped in, that evening. He had seen also a few bloody footprints leaving the crime scene, but the trail soon stopped around a corner. The policemen had looked for witnesses, and remained gathered around the footprints for a long time. However, they couldn't find out who had left them. Not one of the four victims, obviously, because their bodies had been found in the middle of the pool of blood. Maybe it had been a random person that had walked there. The police and Antonio found it tempting and exciting to think it could have been a survivor, but it was highly improbable. If Vargas had to kill, he would never leave survivors. The mafia never forgave or forgot anybody.

Whoever those footprints belonged to, he was gone and would never talk with the police. The people of Palermo never cooperated with the officers, because in most cases it would mean death. In other cases it meant a beating, public humiliation, kneecapping, your car being destroyed, or the cutting of ears or noses, or even fingers. In other cases it meant your wife or children being kidnapped, until you fulfilled whatever the mafia asked you to do or until you paid the blackmailers.

He grimaced. He had thought that maybe, just maybe, Vargas could not have been that psychopathic killer. That maybe it had all been a misunderstanding. That perhaps he was good.

That very small human hope had always made part of him when he caught criminals. He didn't think of criminals as something different from him. Quite the contrary, he himself had not been… exactly a model citizen, for a while, before he became a detective. Long story. Anyway, he knew criminals quite well, and he knew that they were just as human as he was.

Vargas was certainly lonely, if he looked for the company of Ludwig. But if Italy had committed such a brutal murder, and apparently he did so almost every week, his hopes of maybe redeeming the man sank lower than his feet.

He sighed, letting his head hang. Once more, he felt the French gun pressing under his arm. As if calling for him.

He smiled faintly, remembering his Parisian friend that had gifted him that weapon. He wondered how he was doing at the moment. How were things going in France? His friend, Francis, owned a restaurant somewhere in Paris. Whenever he wasn't cooking or managing the restaurant, he would be constantly in flirt-mode. And with anyone. Francis flirted with women, ladies, teen girls, men, boys, anyone. And he constantly justified himself saying that he had too much '_amour_' in him, and that he had to share it with everybody, or else he'd explode. And whenever he said this, he would sigh, clutching dramatically his heart, and do as if he had shed a tear. Of course, he wouldn't force anybody. He was simply very handsome, and had especially refined flirting skills that almost nobody could resist. Antonio would simply laugh every time he saw him in action, Francis was incorrigible. In that exact moment, he was probably flirting with someone, or having a romantic drink. Actually, he was most probably already in bed with someone.

Antonio snapped back to reality when someone grabbed his shoulder and pulled him sideways into an alley.

He reacted immediately to the stranger, his right hand going for the gun, but another hand stopped him by grabbing his wrist. The Spaniard was about to lash out at the assailant, but a hushed voice made him halt.

"_Fermo,_ Carriedo! Stop! It's me, Delisi, the Lieutenant!"

Antonio immediately unfolded his fingers that he had readied into a punch. He barely recognized the young face of the Captain's subordinate in the darkness of the alley. "Huh? The Lieutenant?"

Delisi nodded quickly. "Yes! You have to follow me!" he whispered urgently. He grabbed the Spaniard's elbow and started dragging him through the alleys.

"Hey, hey, hey, wait a second! What happened?" Antonio asked, surprised. Weren't they supposed not to make contact, ever?

"Beilschmidt and Vargas are in the hospital right now!" The Lieutenant panted.

"What?!"

Everything else was forgotten, as they hurried to the hospital.

* * *

Ludwig sat in a chair just outside Italy's hospital room. The Italian had been immediately taken to surgery, the bullet had hit his abdomen and hadn't come out.

The German's elbows were resting on his knees, while he was staring at his intertwined fingers.

Thoughts were rampaging in his head like a hurricane. He felt like a small boat during a storm in the ocean, and he was slowly but steadily spiralling down in a whirlpool. Actually, a maelstrom.

Italy Vargas had been shot.

Italy Vargas had been shot because he had shoved him out of the way.

Italy Vargas had taken the bullet destined for him.

What the hell…?

What the hell?!

It didn't make any sense!

Ludwig sighed, tiredly rubbing his eyes with his palms. Why on earth would the mafia Boss shove him out of the way?

Actually, Ludwig saw a reason to it all, but… it didn't make sense. Like all the rest.

Italy Vargas had wanted to protect him. Like a friend. He had shoved away the person he -apparently- cared for and taken the bullet instead of him.

That was something that happened in those predictable American movies. It didn't happen in real life! People cared too much for themselves to be ready and sacrifice themselves for others. People were too selfish. Only saints could do such a thing. Not criminals. And especially not a mafia Boss.

Ludwig sunk his fingers in his blond hair. It was all a mess, the locks weren't slicked back anymore, so blond bangs hung almost in front of his eyes.

He was so confused. This had never happened to him, so he felt lost. Without any prior knowledge to hang on to. He felt like he did on the first days of his career, with his first few criminals. He felt exposed, weak, unarmed… _lost_.

Because he was starting to feel himself some kind of attachment to the Italian. That illogical part of him was starting to _care_ for the man. It had never happened to him before. Criminals were criminals, they were _not_ people. Even if he knew that the world wasn't black and white, but a wide scale of greys. Actually, he knew it all to well, thanks to his broth-

_Don't think about that_, he ordered to himself, shaking his head furiously.

Still, he… he was starting to care for that criminal. This illogical feeling he couldn't control.

And he had to fight it.

…Did he want to fight it?

It didn't matter if he wanted or not, he had to. He had to remind himself that he was a detective, and that Italy Vargas was a mentally unstable criminal. And not just any criminal.

_A criminal that has taken a bullet for you_, that illogical part of him whispered, against his normal train of thought. The German's blue eyes landed on the dark blood stain on his grey suit.

The detectives were the hunters, the criminals were the prey. Not a harmless prey, mind you. A criminal was actually a bloodthirsty and dangerous prey, a lion. And everyone knew that no hunter could ever befriend a lion.

It was simply against nature.

_He has taken that bullet for you_, that voice in his mind whispered again. A lion could befriend a hunter, if the hunter put down the gun.

But not if the lion had killed dozens of villagers.

_He has taken that bullet for you_, the voice repeated once more, stubborn.

Ludwig groaned, baring his teeth and closing his eyes so he wouldn't see the blood stain.

"Damn it all."

Even his own damn mind was against him.

* * *

After an hour or so, Italy left the surgery room. He was carried to a normal hospital room, where he was laid down on a bed, but in an almost sitting position. Ludwig knew that otherwise the anaesthetic would get to his head and give the Italian a migraine. Vargas' eyes were closed, the total anaesthesia would last somewhere around the six or seven hours.

Nobody was permitted to enter his room, for the first few hours. Not even Ludwig. Not that he wanted to, of course…!

Even so, when Captain Kirkland walked into the hallway with three other officers, he found the blond sitting just outside the Italian's door.

The British Captain didn't have exceptionally long legs, but in no time he was in front of the German, together with his men. He had to remember their act. He only hoped the blond would remember it as well.

"Good evening, Beilschmidt." He said, glacial.

Ludwig's head snapped up, blue eyes finding green ones. The blue pair blinked, understanding.

"Excuse me, do I know you?" The deep voice of the German replied.

Arthur Kirkland internally sighed out of relief.

"No. But I know you." He paused. "Vargas is in here."

It wasn't a question, it was a statement.

"Yes. Nobody is permitted to enter, not even you, I'm afraid." Ludwig said sarcastically, glancing at the other three nervous policemen. Their hands were fiddling with their pockets, fingertips centimetres away from their guns. "I don't think he'd be able to answer to any of your questions, _mister important police officer_. He'll be knocked-out for a while." He continued.

Kirkland almost wanted to smile. Ludwig was a good actor, he had to admit it. And he really looked intimidating. Even if he was sitting down, his icy glare made you somehow feel as if he were towering over you.

"That means I'll have to settle with one of the medics, I'm afraid." Arthur smiled sweetly.

Ludwig didn't answer, and followed the Captain with his eyes as he walked with his men down the corridor to look for a medic.

Many thoughts were rampaging through the Brit's head. The man that had shot Vargas had been identified as a survivor of the shootout of the night before. So five people were supposed to die that night. Arthur didn't know the motive behind their murder. Those five seemed simply five random people, he couldn't find anything that connected them, beside the fact that apparently they had all been friends. They weren't from another mafia, or even important people. Also how the fifth man had managed to survive was a mystery for him. Kirkland felt somehow a little triumphant: Vargas had made a mistake, he had left a survivor! It was also kind of incredible that the man had been able to walk through the alleys with at least four bullets in his body, for a whole day, after also having been kneecapped. The man had had a gun, and only one purpose in his mind: find Vargas and make him pay. So _of course_ he wouldn't stop by a police officer and tell him what happened. Or go to a hospital, like any sane person would have done.

Normally, Kirkland would have been overjoyed. Finally, a survivor! Even if he had died, it could mean that Vargas was getting sloppy. And that man had shot that bloody mafia bastard!  
But detective Beilschmidt had been with the Italian, and had reacted to the unknown danger by shooting the man, giving the final blow. Arthur didn't blame him, the man could have wounded a lot of innocents with his brittle state of mind and body. But he was kind of disappointed to have lost a potential witness that could have landed Vargas in jail. And where the hell had Vargas' gorillas been? Normally, the Mafioso would be surrounded by undercover henchmen and bodyguards, so that they could intervene whenever something happened. Arthur frowned. Something didn't quite add up. Indeed, where had his henchmen been?

Anyway, the survivor was dead now. But before he died, he had aimed at Beilschmidt, who had stood between Vargas and him. He had been in the way.

And so, the strangest thing had happened.

Vargas had shoved Beilschmidt aside, and taken the bullet instead.

Arthur almost couldn't believe it when Delisi told him what had happened. But indeed, Italy Vargas was in the hospital, in surgery because of a bullet wound.

Whatever Beilschmidt and Carriedo were planning, it had worked. Something was changing. Vargas had never done such a thing before. He had never _exposed_ himself so much.

He had sent Delisi to find Carriedo and bring him to the hospital, because there was the possibility that also Beilschmidt had been wounded. However, like he had seen, the German was in top shape. Too bad for the grey suit, though. Blood stains were difficult to wash out of clothes. Anyway, even if Beilschmidt was well, Delisi was still out there looking for Carriedo. Any moment now they both would return.

The British Captain finally found the medic who could tell him the Italian's conditions.

"Hmm, he was never in life danger, the wound isn't too nasty. He has taken the bullet not from the front, but a little sideways, around the left hip. It didn't come out, so we had to open him up and extract the piece of lead. Lucky for him, it didn't hit the kidneys, or else he'd be dying right now. The bullet only hit the intestines." The medic said, looking at his note pad. "So, we opened up his abdomen and extracted the bullet. Then we sewed the damaged intestines up again, put a soluble plaster and then stitched up his abdomen. We also closed up the bullet hole in his side. The anaesthesia will last somewhere around the six hours, and he won't be able to move from that bed for at least twenty-four hours. Until then, he won't be permitted to eat. After that, he can be moved to a chair and such, but he'll be able to walk properly already after four or five days."

The Captain nodded, as he received the information.

"I'll wait until the morning, so I can talk with Vargas. I need to ask him questions."

The medic's brows furrowed. "Technically, only family and close friends are allowed to see him, especially after he's just woken up…" the British Captain shot him a glare. "…But seeing your identity, and the one of the patient I'll obviously make an exception!" The medic quickly added.

Arthur and his three men slowly returned back to Vargas' room.

"Sir?" one of his men asked, before they walked around a corner.

"Yes?"  
"I'm kind of confused. I'm sure you want to interrogate him like the… the man he _is_, but in this case…" his subordinate hesitated.

"Continue, I'm listening." Arthur said.

The policeman glanced sideways at the German, sitting far away from them. "…In this case, technically, he is the victim, sir."

The Captain stopped dead on his tracks. His subordinate was right.

Arthur finished for his man. "…Even if we all know the man was someone that survived the shootout, which was organized by Vargas himself, we cannot prove it. Not anymore, at least, now that the shooter is dead. So indeed… Vargas is just a victim."

"That's what I'm saying, sir. And that kraut shot out of self-defence."  
The Brit scowled. "Bloody hell. You're right. But that doesn't change the fact that I will ask him questions. And you three will guard the corridor." He ordered to the men. "No one looking suspicious must come through, only medics and nurses. There are other patients as well, here, so of course people will walk around this wing. So make sure that they really _are_ medics and nurses, or even patients. I don't care if they protest, check _thoroughly_."

The men nodded in unison, "Yessir," and went to their assigned places.

Kirkland slowly walked towards Vargas' room, and sat some meters beside Ludwig. Arthur glanced around to make sure no one was listening, and then, without looking at him, he started talking to the blond.

"So, Beilschmidt. What the hell are you doing?"

The German was staring at his hands. "What do you mean?"

"You know very well what I mean. You're playing as Vargas' new damn best buddy." Arthur whispered snarling.

Ludwig did not answer, and kept staring at his hands.

"I won't meddle with your methods, or Carriedo's. I trust both your judgement and experience on this. And I don't want to know what you're both planning. But let me tell you, the game you are playing is dangerous. You are, quite literally, toying with fire. Do not burn your fingers, Beilschmidt, because that means the end for you." Arthur continued.  
The German slowly nodded. "I know that. You don't have to lecture me like a worried mother." He glared at the Brit.  
"Good. I'm simply warning you both. I know you have much more experience than I do with criminals, I know your fame precedes you both. It's just… please don't get burned, Beilschmidt." The Captain stared back at the German. Ludwig looked into the Brit's green eyes and saw the guilt of his two men, killed by the mafia. As well as all the other victims. Drowned, shot, stabbed, beaten…

"I'll be sure to wear fireproof gloves." Ludwig answered, voice flat.

The Captain blinked, and then shook his head, before standing up. "You don't have to sit guard here, you know. He won't wake up-"

"In six hours, I know that." Ludwig interrupted him.  
The Brit blinked. "You could get some shut-eye. It would do you good."

"I can sleep on a chair." The blond stated, voice flat.

The Captain frowned, looking back at the German. "Why are you doing this? Why are you so eager of staying here?"  
Ludwig cocked an eyebrow, lips set in a straight line. "I have an act to keep up, remember? Vargas has many eyes, beside his own. It will be more credible if I really remain here."

"…You're right. My mistake. But I'll leave to get some sleep before he wakes up. Three of my men are guarding this wing of the hospital. And just so you know, they all think you are one of Vargas' most loyal men now."  
"I think the whole city does, am I wrong?"

Arthur shook his head. "No. You aren't. Goodnight, Beilschmidt. And good luck."  
"Thanks. Goodnight, Captain."

Arthur left the corridor, while Ludwig remained seated on the uncomfortable plastic and metallic chair.

He had convinced himself he was doing this for the sake of the mission and the act that he had to keep up. But somewhere, deep down… he really wanted to stay there.

"Shut up." He muttered to nobody in particular, as he covered his face with one hand.

He remained there, sitting.

Waiting.

* * *

**Damn, I also had to do some medical research for this. I personally have been only once or twice in a hospital, so I don't have the faintest idea of how things work. Thankfully, a friend of mine is studying 'nursing' at university, so...**

**Anyway! "Italy" Is unconscious at the moment, Arthur thinks he knows stuff better than Ludwig and Antonio do, our favourite German is currently dealing with so-called mindfucks and Antonio... is still Antonio. XD**

**I hope you liked this, I'll see you next chapter! ;D**

**...**

_**Joder : **__(spanish) Shit._

**_Amour :_**_ (french) Love_

**_Fermo! :_**_ (italian) Stop!_


	9. Something's not right

**Ciao everybody!**

**Admit it, you didn't expect an upload so soon (after all, I uploaded last chapter ****_yesterday, _****wohooo!). Anyway, I had already written this part, so here you have it before I leave! 8D yayz!**

**I really enjoyed this chapter, I hope you do so too! C:**

**Please sit back, und ENJOY!**

* * *

Antonio hurried down the hallway, and after he turned the what seemed to be the hundredth corner, he saw Ludwig. A random police officer had stopped him, but Delisi had guaranteed for him, even if he had stayed behind.

"Ludwig!" He shouted/whispered at the blond, whose head snapped up. It looked as if he had just dozed off.

The Spaniard came to a halt by the German, panting. "Oh, thank God, you're okay…!" He managed to say between the pants. "I heard you and Vargas were in the hospital, and I immediately thought the worst had happened."

Ludwig cocked an eyebrow. "Thank you for your concern, I am okay. But what the hell are you doing here? We're not supposed to be seen in public!" He hissed, eyes darting around in the deserted hallway.

"Oh, that's right. Well, that means I'll have to go to the bathroom. And you'd better feel nature calling as well in a couple of minutes!" Antonio smiled, as he nonchalantly walked towards the bathroom, not too far away.

The German facepalmed. He'd never understand the guy.

After five minutes, he stood up and went to the restroom himself. The small well-lit space smelled like moisture and something synthetic. He saw the Spaniard, nonchalantly leaving one of the toilets and going to wash his hands.

"I already checked, there's nobody here. Now tell me, what the hell happened?" Antonio asked while he washed his tan hands, looking at the German reflected in the mirror.

Ludwig crossed his arms over his chest, as he leaned onto the cold tiled wall. Then, he told the Spaniard everything.

When he got to the point of the bloodied man, Antonio slapped his forehead with a wet hand. "The footprints! Of course!"

Ludwig cocked an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

"Nothing, nothing. I'll explain later, please go on." Antonio shook his head, while he dried his hands and forehead.

The German shrugged, and continued telling what happened. When he finished, Antonio stared at him.

"Oh my God, _he took the bullet for you?!_" He whispered/exclaimed. "The plan is going better than expected, if he values you that much! And you always get his innocent mood, I'm becoming kind of jealous. The three times I met him I was unlucky enough to always get his dangerous mood…"

Ludwig shook his head. "…Yes, the plan is going… all too well."

"Is something wrong with that?" The Spaniard asked.

"No, nothing. Nothing." The other replied. "Tell me, what did you say about footprints?"

"Do you remember the 'party'?" Antonio asked.

Ludwig had honestly kind of forgotten about that. "Yes, but I couldn't find a single newspaper about it. Italy organized it so that I wouldn't find out anything."  
"Yeah, I had that too, even if it apparently was meant for you, hahaha… anyway, I now know what happened." Antonio said, and he quickly explained what had happened that day. He told about the shootout, the four victims. About what he saw himself, about the third meeting with the 'dangerous' side of Italy, and about how he had disappeared moments later.

"He probably went to find you, when he left me… and somewhere in between, he changed moods. Do you think the two personalities have each other's memories? How do you think they change…? Like, is there a trigger of some sort?" Antonio wondered aloud.

Ludwig shrugged, so the Spaniard simply continued telling.

He told him about the footprints, and the smudge left by the car. Then, how Delisi had pulled him into an alley and how they both had hurried to the hospital.

"We were both really worried, because all we knew was that you both were in the hospital, and that someone had been shot." Antonio finished. "So there really had been a survivor, and he obviously went to find the culprit. And you were with him. But luckily, you are unharmed!"

Again, Ludwig slowly nodded. "Yes. Luckily."  
"Are you sure you're alright? You seem a bit… off." Antonio frowned, nearing the German.

Ludwig shook his head quickly. "I'm just tired… I didn't sleep too much this night. And it's one in the morning right now, if you hadn't noticed."

The Spaniard glanced at his watch. He was right. "Oh, okay… so, what do you plan on doing now?"

"I'll stay close to him. He trusts me more and more with every hour that passes, apparently. So I'll be the nice 'friend' and remain by his side until he wakes up. That will surely make a good impression. And who knows how many more eyes Vargas has in this hospital." Ludwig reasoned mechanically.

Antonio nodded. "Yes, that sounds the best. Alright, I'll go back to the hotel then, and see if I can get more out of the files and the whole shootout tragedy."  
Ludwig slightly flinched at the word 'shootout'. They wished each other good night and good luck, and separated.

Ludwig went back to the chair just outside Vargas' room, and sighed.

Antonio returned to the hotel, hands stuffed in his pockets, thinking about the files. He was completely unaware of a certain pair of suspicious eyes following him through the night. Teeth bit down on a toothpick until it broke.

* * *

Ludwig was permitted to enter Vargas' room after three hours, after his conditions had stabilized. He had noticed that the medic's hands had trembled, when he had opened Italy's door to make the big German enter.

Ludwig settled down on a chair beside Italy's bed. Luckily, this chair was way more comfortable than the ones in the corridor, so he easily slipped into a soft half-sleeping state… Until his head lolled to one side, as he dozed off, falling completely asleep.

And he had the strangest dream ever.

He dreamt of himself, sitting in that same room, sleeping. Everything seemed just like when he had been awake. Except for a couple of things.

First of all, the room was completely dark. Everything was shrouded in darkness with no light source, except some faint yellowish glow coming from outside the window and through the curtains.

Secondly, a figure was standing in the darkness, just beside Italy's bed. He was standing in front of the window, so he couldn't see his face, which blended with the darkness around him. His shadow stretched over the Italian's sheets, all the way to Ludwig's position. Ludwig somehow knew that the dark figure was glaring daggers at him. The silhouette slowly moved a hand, and he saw the metallic glint of a gun.

He shot up awake in his chair, eyes wide, fingers already clasped around the Walther P5 and pointing at…

At the window.

He swallowed. He was panting, and sweat was beading his forehead. He forced himself to calm down, and put the gun away again, in his suit's pocket.

"It was just a nightmare, calm down." He whispered to himself, rubbing his face with one hand.

It had to be a nightmare, even if it had seemed extremely real. That feeling of danger, that made him tense all up... he felt it in his very bones and guts, and very few times it had been wrong. But this was one of those times. It had been a nightmare. Italy's room was lit by two small yellow lights, beside Italy's very bed, and no one else was in the room. No one could have entered without him knowing it, his sleep was very light. It _couldn't_ have been real.

Of course. Calm down. It had been only a nightmare.

* * *

He slowly grasped consciousness again. He felt as if he were buried deep in a cloud. It was a warm, fluffy and fuzzy feeling. Hmmm, it felt wonderful. He never wanted to leave.

He tried to move so he could snuggle deeper into that cloud, but somehow he couldn't.

Strange.

He forced himself to move more. He could barely move only one arm, but it felt heavy, as if it were made out of lead.

Determination bloomed into him. He could, and _would_ move!

He tried to move his torso, but as soon as he twisted it a little, a pang of pain seared through his whole abdomen.

He winced at the pain. What…? He was lying on something, in an almost sitting position. It was soft, but it wasn't the cloud anymore, which had disappeared into nothingness. Hey, he had liked that soft cloud!

And that burning pain that came from his abdomen…what had happened? Why did it hurt…?

Fortunately, if he didn't move, the pain would disappear almost immediately, until it was only a dull throbbing feeling. So he stopped trying to move altogether.

He heard some muffled voices, but didn't see anyone.

Oh right, his eyes were closed.

It took almost every ounce of energy he had to open his eyelids, and when he did, he closed them immediately again. It was _way_ too bright…!

The voices slowly didn't sound muffled anymore, but after a while, they left.

He tried to open his eyes once more.

Again, the brightness attacked his retinas like a ferocious animal, but he was determined not to close them again. He blinked several times, squeezing his eyes and winking, but his vision remained blurred nonetheless.

He vaguely discerned a white wall, with a grey door that had a small glass window.

He blinked again.

Where the hell was he?  
This wasn't his home…!

His breath caught up a little. Where was he? Why wasn't he at home? Where was his-

Another pang of pain seared through his body as he took a breath that apparently was deeper than the others. He closed his eyes again and groaned, one hand going for his abdomen. He could move it now, but something tugged from his arm. He opened his eyes once more, and saw that a needle was strapped to his right forearm with a small bandage. The needle was connected to two small tubes. One was connected to bag containing something transparent that hung beside his bed, while the other was connected to a machine pumping a clear liquid of some sort in his system.

He moved a hand around the sheets, as it started sinking into him.

This wasn't his bed.

This was a hospital bed.

He was in a _hospital_. That machine was pumping morphine into his system. He now also noticed another small transparent tube that went down his nose and throat and God knows where else to.

What in the heavens…?

His head felt heavy and he found it difficult to think normally. He also felt incredibly tired, and sluggish… He blinked yet again, and finally some of the blurriness went away. He looked around the room, and saw a figure in a chair beside him.

He almost had a jump-scare, thinking it was a random stranger. But then he recognized the sleeping man.

It was Fritz.

A smile slowly started stretching on his face. He was here…!

But something didn't add up. Why the hell were they both in a hospital?

That's when it all came back to him. He shuddered at the memory.

That bloodied man in that street. With a gun. Obviously wanting to… to kill him. And Fritz had stepped in between them. Fritz had had a gun, too. The man and Fritz had both shot.

He had shoved Fritz out of the way. His abdomen burned a little, as if wanting to remind him where he had been shot. He remembered that the man had fallen, hit square in the chest by Fritz's bullet.

He smiled even more, as he glanced at the German.

The jacket of his suit hung to the chair, and he could see it was dirty with blood. With his own blood.

He felt so relieved. For a moment, before he had passed out in that street, he had thought that Fritz had been hit as well, despite of him shoving the German out of the way. But there was no blood on the shirt the blond was wearing, which meant he was alright.

He frowned, however, when he noticed a familiar rectangular bulge in the pocket of the suit's jacket. He was glad Fritz had had the gun, it had saved them, but… why on earth would Fritz be carrying a gun around?

He slowly shook his head - if he did so faster, it would throb as hell-, it didn't matter. West Berlin wasn't probably the safest place to live in at the moment, so the German must have taken up the habit of carrying a gun.

He felt so glad that his friend hadn't been harmed. Suddenly, a thought hit him.

Was he being selfish, tricking him like this? Not telling him who he was, hiding everything from him? He had even organized everything so that that morning, Fritz would learn anything about the shoot-… about what had happened the night before. He had hidden the newspapers, he had made sure the TV's would be tuned on stupid channels and that somebody would mess with all the public radios. And it had worked, Fritz still didn't know anything. He kind of felt proud of himself in having succeeded in that.

Yet… he knew that he wouldn't be able to hide this forever, that eventually he would find out. Fritz wasn't stupid, he was anything but that. But still… he wanted to keep him in his protective bubble as long as he could. For once the bubble burst, Fritz would obviously never want to see him again. He would surely hate him, like the whole of Sicily and south Italy did.

It was almost as if his wish had come true, that morning when he had bumped into him. Having a friend, like all _normal_ people did… Someone that didn't glance at you with eyes filled with fear, disgust, or hate… or that didn't look at you waiting for orders. Well, of course there was _him_, but… it wasn't the same.

He sighed, but that made his abdomen hurt again.

He lazily closed his eyes, his hand resting still on the stitched and bandaged wound. Oh, he knew that _somebody_ wouldn't be happy when he'd come to know about this…

On the other hand, he also knew a certain somebody who would be more than happy. A certain Brit with bushy eyebrows.

Talk of the devil. He could hear his voice coming from outside his door, and his footsteps, nearing his room.

Suddenly, he started panicking, when he realized something. Fritz was here…! He would surely find everything out…! No, he didn't want to lose him like this! And he certainly didn't want him to discover his identity from that mean Brit!

What could he do?  
_What could he do!?_

Before he could even put an order to his confused and sluggish thoughts again, the doorknob clinked.

* * *

Arthur yawned as he walked down the corridor that led to Vargas' hospital room. He had just woken up, and knowing he wouldn't sleep to much, he hadn't even undressed or taken off his shoes, when he had flopped down on his bed. Even his messy dark blond hair was messier than usual. But he couldn't care less at the moment. It was just past six in the morning, he hadn't had his tea and Italy Vargas was lying in a hospital.

He greeted his men that were guarding the hospital wing, and then neared the grey door of Italy's room. He lazily closed his eyelids for a couple of seconds, and almost bumped into a medic.

"Ah, I'm terribly sorry." Arthur excused himself. He then recognized the medic he had talked to the evening before. "How is our _patient_ doing?" he asked, before the medic could leave.

The medic looked in a hurry. "Eh, he's doing just fine. He's already recovering, and he'll probably be awake any minute now."  
The Captain nodded. "Good, I'll go talk to him then." He said, walking towards the room again.  
"You can't!" The medic stopped him by grabbing his sleeve.

"And why on earth not? Because _mister important man_ needs to rest? Please." Arthur growled to the medic, who gulped visibly. The Brit freed his sleeve from the already loosening grip of the medic, and was finally in front of Vargas' room.  
He grabbed the doorknob and opened the grey door. Inside, he found Vargas and Beilschmidt. Not that he was surprised to see the latter.

Italy had woken up, and his eyes were wide open, as he stared at the Brit. Arthur was surprised to find something in those amber brown orbs that he had never seen in Vargas' eyes.

Fear.

Italy's eyes darted for the briefest of moments to the sleeping figure of the detective, before quickly returning to the Captain. Arthur smiled. Beilschmidt was doing a good job, if Vargas was worrying for him, worried that the _mean_ Brit cop would do something to the German.

He glanced around the room and then at Vargas.

Many machines were around Italy's bed and wired to the patient, mostly for standard monitoring after an operation: heart meter, respiratory checker…all that nasty stuff you didn't want to know about. Then, two small plastic tubes went from Italy's forearm into two different objects. One tube was connected to a bag of transparent liquid, water, while the other was connected to a machine pumping something. Arthur recognized it as morphine. Another tube appeared from one of Vargas' nostrils, and connected somewhere beside the bed to a bag. The Brit knew what it was. The morphine would stop the patient's peristalsis and make him feel numb altogether. The body would react by making the patient vomit, but because of the morphine, the patient wouldn't feel a thing, so all the nasty stuff would get into his lungs and choke him. The tube, basically, emptied the patient's stomach.

Then, he observed Italy, in the hospital bed. In an almost sitting position, wearing a white hospital gown. He looked so much different from when he had his usual elegant outfits. If the Brit had cared to pull up the sheets, he would have seen the bandaged and probably a little bloody abdomen.

Arthur glanced at the sleeping German. He was slumped in the chair, arms folded on his chest, head resting on one shoulder. The man would surely have a formidable neck ache when he'd wake up.

Somehow, as soon as the door clinked back shut, Ludwig's eyes shot open, and he straightened up, inhaling through his nose. Boy, he was a light sleeper.

The Captain decided to ignore him.

"_Buongiorno, signor Vargas_." He said in Italian, sickening politeness coating his words.

Italy swallowed with visible difficulty, and then "…_Signor Capitano_." He croaked, as he nodded once.

"Good morning to you too, mister Beilschmidt." The Brit continued in English, turning his head to the German.

"Er… good morning, I guess. Why are you here?" Ludwig asked without bothering to be polite, scanning the Brit from head to toe. A badge hung by his belt, and he had his uniform on. And Ludwig had to play dumb.

"Just wanted to ask this _man_ here some _questions_." Arthur stressed the two words, and took a few steps closer to Italy.

He had to admit, he had never seen the Boss so vulnerable. Barely able to move or think straight because of the morphine, no gorillas around to protect him… he almost felt pity for that monster.

Almost.

Beilschmidt stepped in between the bed and the Brit, blocking him.

"He needs his rest." The German stated, his voice coated in ice.

He noticed a small object at his feet, just beside Italy's bed. He kicked it with his heel under the bed, maybe it was important.

"…_Just what kind of game are you playing, Beilschmidt?!_" Arthur hissed so low that Italy would not be able to hear him, as he started to become irritated.

"_The game of the 'worried buddy'. I have to keep playing or I'll burn myself, remember?_" Ludwig hissed back.

Arthur didn't care. At the moment, Italy was vulnerable, his mind was clouded because of the anaesthetics and the morphine, he would maybe answer his questions more easily. He then registered the fact that if he played the bad cop, Ludwig would be all the more credible, and maybe it would be a positive thing for them both. Silent understanding passed in between the two pair of eyes which were glaring at each other.

"Let me through, _German_." He spat, loud enough that Italy could hear him again.

"I said, he needs his rest." Ludwig retorted. He vaguely heard the sound of rustling sheets behind him, but he didn't turn around.

"It's…it's okay…Fritz…" A voice croaked from behind him. Ludwig turned around, and saw the Italian had forced himself to sit up a little straighter, regaining a little dignity. He smiled weakly. "Let…him ask… about yesterday…it's his job, he needs… details... of that shooter… I … I don't mind… But could you please… leave us…?" He managed to say, hoarsely and sleepily.

Ludwig blinked, as did Arthur. The German however was the first to recover. Of course, Italy didn't want him to find out who he was. "Sure. I'll leave you both alone."  
"Don't think you're getting away with this, German. You have to be questioned too, this is just procrastinating things." Arthur smirked.

"Sure. I'll see you outside, then." Ludwig answered, glacial, as he left.

As he closed the door, he shot a last glance in the room. Arthur was sitting on his chair, while Italy looked visibly more relaxed than before.

He remembered the small object he had kicked under Italy's bed. It was something small and he hadn't even had a good look at it, but he was fairly sure it didn't belong in a hospital. He made a mental note to check it, once he got back inside.

* * *

After barely half an hour, the Captain exited the room, finding Ludwig sitting just beside the door.

Ludwig cocked an eyebrow as he stood up. "Done already?"

The Brit sighed. "Yes, '_Fritz_'. Sadly enough. The morphine and the anaesthetics made him fall asleep again."  
"Did you get anything out of him?" the German asked.  
"No, not really. Every time I asked him questions it would take at least a minute for him to answer. His brain was sluggish because of all the meds, but somehow he managed to remain lucid enough to make up his story. About where he was at the shootout, and the reason a bloodied man would want to kill him... Nothing, he still denied everything and kept up the innocent act." Arthur huffed.

Ludwig folded his arms over his chest. "Hmm. That's not good."

Arthur bared his teeth, glaring at the wall. "Well, not that I had expected anything different. I thought that maybe he would be more vulnerable like this, but somehow he isn't. Damn that bloody wanker." He clapped his hands together. "Well! My job here is done. My men will still guard this wing, but officially I have nothing more to do here. I leave the rest to you, Beilschmidt. It's all in your and Carriedo's hands. And to be honest, I trust you more than that Spaniard, so…"

Ludwig smirked. Antonio really did look less reliable than anyone he had known, mostly because of his apparent goofiness. "Sure. Goodbye, Captain."

"Goodbye."  
And he left.

Ludwig sighed, rubbing his temples. He had gotten a coffee from a vending machine, earlier, and he was completely awake now, even if his neck ached a little from the awkward position he had slept in. He had also been kind of surprised that a vending machine in a hospital in south Italy made better coffee than a bar in Germany.

He shook his head. He was getting distracted.

So anyway, what did he have to do again…?

Oh right, return in Italy's room.

He opened the door, and remembered he had something to check. He glanced briefly at the Mafioso's sleeping serene face, before walking around the bed. He remembered that the object had been here somewhere, between the bed and the window, before he kicked it…

He found it, hidden under the bed. He had to reach out a hand that needed to feel around a bit, before finally finding it with his fingertips.

He actually felt a little triumphant over that little finding that probably meant nothing. After all, it was just a random object under a hospital bed.

However, when he looked at the object he had in his palm, he felt as if a cold knife had stabbed him from inside.

It couldn't be. It just couldn't.

How the hell did it get here...?  
He was fairly sure not a single one of the doctors or nurses carried it around. And neither had he himself or the Captain. It was much more likely for Italy to be carrying it around in his suit, knowing he had that peculiar habit. But even if he had, it couldn't have been him. His clothes had ended up somewhere in the hospital where the all the patients' clothes were stacked.

So, again, _how the hell had it even gotten there?_

He suddenly remembered his dream, about the dark figure glaring at him from across Italy's bed.

His guts twisted even more, and a shiver ran down his spine.

…It hadn't been a nightmare. But… it wasn't possible…

His wide blue eyes kept staring at the small object between his fingers.

A broken toothpick.

* * *

**Oooooooh, dang it! **

**Something just doesn't add up, huh, Luddy? C:**

**Aaand I know the 'dangerous' side of Italy hasn't made many appearances yet, but he will show up more in the future, trust me ;)**

**I'll be going now, then! See you next chapter, everybody! :D**

**...**

_**Buongiorno, signor Vargas : **__(italian) Good morning, mister Vargas_.

_**Signor Capitano : **__(italian) Mister Captain._


	10. Step back once to see the whole picture

**Hello everybody!**

**I am finally back from Iggyland, it was AWESOME! (Although I will never try a scone or ale again... I was traumatized, seriously. Never again. I even couldn't find the courage to try porridge, maybe another time... *shudders*). British people are absolutely wonderful and polite, and I was also lucky with the infamous English weather. **

**Oh, and British accent is fabulous! *drools***

**(Oh, and to'reviewer 'Random Person', I've already drawn pictures for this fanfic! :D But my scanner is having problems at the moment, I don't think they will be up any time soon... sadly enough :( )**

**ANYWAY! **

**Here's the new chapter you've all been waiting for! (at least I hope so :3 )**

**Please sit back, und ENJOY.**

* * *

Antonio yawned, as he stretched out on his bed. Something fell on the floor. With one eye open, he lazily looked at what it had been. Oh, the files folder.

Had he fallen asleep while reading them…?

He felt something rolling on his chest, as well as another weight. He craned his neck to look at it while he was still lying down.

A pencil, and his notebook.

He yawned again. With one hand he rubbed an eye, with the other he picked up the notebook and set it aside. Then, he sat up, still rubbing his left eye.

He hadn't even changed his clothes, and his shirt was all wrinkled. Oh well, he didn't care.

He smacked his lips, and his gaze fell onto the fallen files. A picture had slipped out from them, so he picked it up. It was Italy's photo. His face was neutral, not a single expression on his features, he could not distinguish which of the two personalities it was.

His brow furrowed. Italy's eyes contained a hint of irritation, very faint, but it was there.

Hmm, this was his dangerous personality.

He briefly wondered again how Ludwig would be doing if Italy woke up in that mood. He smiled to himself, closing his eyes, imagining the scene.

Antonio picked up the files and put the picture in them again, and then he put the whole thing beside him on the bed.

His notebook lied slightly opened, revealing pages filled with words, drawings, doodles and arrows going in every direction without an apparent logic. The Spaniard closed it again, and put it in his new suit's jacket, along with the pencil.

"Come on, get up, lazy." He muttered to himself, as he gathered the energy to stand up. He did so, huffing, and arched his back, yawning again.

"A new day, new possibilities!" He murmured optimistically smiling, putting on the jacket without even bothering to fix his hair or shirt a little.

He thought it could be a good idea to visit Vargas at the hospital. Maybe Ludwig wouldn't be able to cope with the dangerous mood, and either way, he would be tired. And to be completely honest, Antonio didn't have a single clue where else he could go.

So he found himself on the way for the hospital.

In no time he was walking through the hallways, and when he encountered a policeman, he was sure he was in the right wing of the building.

The man didn't even remember him, and thinking he was a random visitor, he let him through. There were many other people that could be more dangerous than him, in that corridor crowed with medics, nurses, patients and other visitors.

And, coincidence above coincidence, he bumped into a man he knew well. Ludwig.

"Excuse me." The German muttered, without even looking at him.

Antonio grabbed his arm. "Hey, Ludwig! Don't you recognize me?" he joked.

He looked back, and blinked, as he recognized. "Antonio, _verdammnt_, how many times do I have to tell you we mustn't be seen?!"

"Couldn't help it, you kind of bumped into me, am I right?" The Spaniard laughed. He noticed Ludwig looked tired, a couple of slightly dark rings under his eyes.

"Tough day? How's Italy doing?"

Ludwig shook his head. "No, not really. Italy's recovering, but keeps slipping in and out of consciousness. I couldn't really get anything out of him. Before falling asleep he sometimes mutters something about a grandfather, but we already know he had one and thus it is completely uninteresting information." He reported mechanically.

"Can I try and get something out of him?" Antonio offered, caring to keep his voice down.

"Suit yourself, I'm surely not going to stop you. I'm going to get a coffee, I'll see you in half an hour in the bathrooms, okay?" Ludwig muttered, looking around.

Antonio grinned. "Sure. See you later!" In no time the blond had disappeared in the mass of people in the corridor.

The Spaniard headed for the patient's grey door, marked with the number 307B. When he opened the door he found Italy awake, gazing outside the window.

He didn't immediately notice him, which gave Antonio the chance of examining his features when they were relaxed from nearby. This was still the 'innocent' mood, also probably caused by the meds. Yet, somehow, something _still_ didn't add up to him.

"_¡__Hola!_" he greeted, smiling broadly.

Italy slowly turned his head to look at him, eyes half-lidded. He blinked.

His lips parted, and the words that came out confused the Spaniard.

"…Who… are you…?"

Thoughts and hypothesis immediately started raging in Antonio's head. And without a particular order.  
What? Huh? Didn't he recognize him? Why? Could he have hit his head? What? Was it the meds? Or was it the whole personality disorder's fault? Didn't the two personalities share memories?

Antonio quickly recollected himself. He was still in front of the Boss of the mafia, even if he didn't recognize him. He awkwardly rubbed the back of his head.

"Er, whoops. I think I got the wrong room. Sorry, I'll leave immediately." He said, and quickly turned away before the Italian could react. He closed the door shut and leaned with his back to the wall beside it, eyes wide.

What the hell happened?

Someone tapped on his shoulder, startling him out of his thoughts. A nurse. "Mister? I'm sorry, but you have to leave." She said.

Antonio blinked. "…Huh? Why?"  
The nurse shrugged. "Medic supervisor's order. Please leave." She didn't bother to be too polite.

Antonio found it strange, but obliged. He'd have to talk to Ludwig about this.

He left Italy's wing together with many other people, he wasn't the only one. There were other patients beside the infamous Vargas, and so naturally there were other visitors. Who had to leave all as well. Antonio also saw Ludwig, still clutching a half-full plastic cup of coffee, led away by a medic. The German nodded once to acknowledge the Spaniard's presence, signalling they couldn't talk when there were too many people around.

Once they left the wing, the medics and nurses stopped pushing and/or dragging and/or leading them away, and blocked the doors. No one could enter the wing anymore.

People were loudly complaining about it all, muttering that they didn't understand what was going on and why. One or two got into an argument with a couple of nurses, and were led away by a guard.

Ludwig glared at the grey doors for a while, and then started walking through the hospital, Antonio understanding and discreetly following through the complaining visitors.

Once they finally got to a deserted corridor, Ludwig halted and turned. And grabbed him by his shirt's collar, lifting him up a little.

"What the _hell_ did you do?!" He snarled, their noses centimetres apart.

Antonio gasped, grabbing Ludwig's hand. The blond hadn't lifted him in the air – not that he wouldn't be capable of that – but it still wasn't comfortable. He looked the other deep in the eyes. Ludwig was angry, there were icy blue flames dancing behind his irises, so Antonio did his best to remain calm.

"…What do you mean?"

"You know very well what I mean! What did you do?! They are isolating Vargas!" Ludwig hissed.

Antonio swallowed. "Isolating…?"

"Nobody's permitted to get near him, orders of the medic supervisor. They isolated the whole damn wing." Ludwig explained. "There must be a reason behind this. Before you came here, everything was going well. I was beside his bed, ready for anything that would slip out of him because of the medication-induced sluggishness. It was perfectly fine. How come that ten minutes after you enter the hospital everything goes down the drain?!"

The Spaniard was now having doubts himself. "I-I don't know!" He coughed once, grasping again Ludwig's hand that was holding the collar. The German blinked, as if he had just realized what he had been doing, and released him abruptly.

Antonio hunched his shoulders and took deep breaths, coughing once.

"Tell me what you did." Ludwig ordered, glacial. "And you better give me a good explanation."

"Okay, okay! You don't need to glare at me like that!" the Spaniard quickly said, straightening up again. "I honestly don't know what I could have done wrong! I just walked in and said hi! But now that I think of it, something strange _did_ happen…"

Ludwig's stony expression didn't change. "Go on."

"He should know me, right? I met him thrice, so it would make sense, right? Yet… he didn't recognise me." Antonio finished. "I thought maybe it was the meds, maybe he hit a wall with his head or something, or… How do you think the two personalities interact? Do they have each other's memories?"

At this, something flashed in Ludwig's eyes for the briefest of moments.

Antonio frowned. "A light bulb appeared over your head, Ludwig. What are you thinking about?"

The German swallowed, and a hand went for the pocket in his trousers. "…I honestly don't know for sure. It's probably stupid…"

"…But?" Antonio insisted.  
"…Nothing. It _is_ stupid. Nevermind, ignore that. It isn't important. But even if what you say is true, I don't understand why they would isolate Italy that much and so quickly… I'm starting to get the idea that it wasn't your fault." Ludwig muttered, frowning.  
"Thank you very much, I'm innocent! About the reason, why don't we simply ask the medic supervisor?" Antonio offered. "It's simple, no?"  
Ludwig blinked at the Spaniard's simplicity. "You honestly think it will work." He said sarcastically.

"Why not? It doesn't hurt to try! After all, we _are_ just harmless tourists!" Antonio smiled broadly, already starting to walk back to the wing where Italy laid.

Ludwig stopped him by grabbing his shoulder. "_I_ should go. Not you. Antonio, you're not supposed to be here. I don't even know why you actually came here in the first place, but it's better if you leave."

Antonio sighed dramatically. "Ah, but then you get all the fun…"

Fun? _Fun?!_ Ludwig wanted to snap at him. But he knew better.

"Leave, Antonio."

"…You're making me feel useless! Argh, _fine_. I'll go poke my nose in the city a bit, see if I can find anything interesting. But you better fill me in tonight at the hotel." The Spaniard pouted, shoulders hunched, as he walked into the direction of the exit.

Ludwig sighed, covering his eyes with one hand. Dealing with Antonio was like dealing with a child.

He walked back to Italy's wing, and found the medic supervisor easily. Ludwig frowned. This wasn't the same medic he and the Captain had seen. The previous medic supervisor had been an Italian, not this light blond man with a foreign surname on his tag. Ludwig could barely read the tiny letters.

Doctor Zwingli. Yes, he definitely wasn't Italian.

"Excuse me, doctor?" He said to attract his attention, as the medic was concentrated on filling in some kind of form on his note pad.

The medic turned to look, and for a millisecond, something flashed in his eyes when he stared at the German in front of him. Ludwig internally groaned: he had already been recognized as Vargas' buddy.

"Can I help you?" he asked with a peculiar accent. Ludwig blinked. A German accent? No, it wasn't like that… Austrian, maybe?

"Yes, actually. I would like to ask why I'm not permitted to visit somebody in this wing." Ludwig asked.

Zwingli scowled, green eyes as cold as ice. "No one is permitted to enter at the moment, mister. And… I'm pretty sure we both know this _somebody_ you want to visit. He needs complete isolation. Sadly enough, we had to isolate the whole wing as well, so you aren't the first one that asked me this. That's the reason, have a nice day."

No, not Austrian. The accent was Swiss. Damn it, the strictest of all Europeans, just his luck. It would not be easy.

But the German wasn't ready to back down yet. He managed to make a smile appear on his lips. "I don't think you understand, doctor."

"Oh, I think I understand quite a lot." The medic snapped back.

Ludwig tried another approach. "Where did the previous supervisor go? He was here yesterday, is he ill?"  
"No, he simply left for a well-earned holiday. I'm only substituting him." Was the explanatory statement.  
Ludwig's guts constricted. A well-earned holiday. Yeah, right. The more he thought about this whole mess, the more it smelled rotten.

"...I'd still like to know the reason though, of why I can't visit him."

The Swiss glared at him with those glacial eyes again. "Professional secret. His condition requires a lot of rest and peace. And as a medic, I can't tell you why. Now, as I said before, have a nice day."

Ludwig however saw something in those eyes, before they turned away. A silent message, and most probably unintentional, was hidden behind the medic's eyes. A quiet plea that could not be spoken.

_'__Help'_.

Ludwig grabbed Zwingli's arm. "_I know something's wrong. And we both know you don't want to do this. I can help._" He whispered as low as he could and in German, their gazes locking.

The medic looked surprised at first, not expecting that from Italy's new best buddy. The Swiss understood there was more to the German than met the eye, but he didn't ask anything. His glare returned, together with a scowl. "_No. You can't._" he answered whispering in the same language.

Ludwig tried to protest. "_But-_"

"_You don't understand, they have __my sister__. I'm sorry, but I can't risk it. I have to obey their orders, I don't have a choice._" The Swiss hissed. Then, in normal tone, so anyone around would be able to hear, "For the last time, have a nice day. Kindly leave the hospital, there's nothing more for you to do here."

Ludwig found himself mentally cursing while he exited the building.

* * *

Five days passed without anything happening.

Nothing.

Five whole days.

Mostly because the centre of their investigations was lying _isolated_ in a hospital. Antonio couldn't find anything around the city, it seemed that once the Boss was gone, all illegal actions and traffics had frozen. There was nothing to do.

So they both spent those days in complete idleness, with nothing to do except waiting. Even the Captain hadn't contacted them. For the two detectives this pause was a nuisance, for the Brit instead it was probably a blessing.

The German knew that after five days Italy would be able to walk again, and that he'd leave. So the Mafioso would be released the next morning, while he would stalk the exit of the hospital. To do what exactly, he didn't know. Maybe follow him to his villa. Maybe he would see something interesting. Hmmm, he'd have to unpack his camera. Maybe there was something worth to see or know. Sometimes you had to analyze pictures to find something that could incriminate somebody.

He smiled simply thinking about that. That camera was his small treasure. It was a brand-new model, it had cost a king's ransom but it had been worth it. It was a wonderful American Polaroid SX-70, which could be folded until it fit in a pocket. It took pictures and immediately blurted out a piece of paper with the picture already printed on it…! The progress of technology would never cease to amaze him. He started imagining the wonders that the future progress would be able to produce. Who knew, maybe one day cars would fly above the ground instead of having wheels, and robots would make chores. Perhaps one day people would be able to carry televisions around and watch anything they wanted whenever they wanted. Maybe one day they would even carry telephones around…! Ludwig chuckled. It seemed ridiculous, but maybe it was a possibility. It would also be incredibly handy, not needing phone booths anymore.

However during these musings, his mind slowly and lazily tracked back to the nightmare he had had in Italy's room. _If_ it had been a nightmare. His brain still couldn't get a satisfactory answer for the toothpick, even if he had a theory.

A very strange and farfetched theory. It was probably foolish. He hadn't even told Antonio about it, because of how stupid it sounded. Before making a fool out of himself, he'd have to research some more. But how could he when the main problem was being isolated by a blackmailed medic?!

So he had to wait. Without doing anything at all.

He couldn't even report the blackmail of the Vargas mafia. Zwingli would probably deny everything, for the sake of his sister. And even if he did collaborate, something highly improbable, his sister would probably be found dead somewhere so that she wouldn't testimony anything. And they'd be back to square one. Third reason he shouldn't do it, his cover would most probably be completely blown.

Ludwig sighed, rubbing his temples. This was turning out to be more difficult than he had thought. He and the Spaniard had made some progress, but not much. He dearly hoped the future would be kinder to them.

He glanced at his watch. Antonio had gone out for a walk. Which crazy fool would take a stroll outside at 11.30 pm in this city anyway? He didn't argue though. Antonio was free to do what he wanted, Ludwig wasn't his mother. And he trusted the Spaniard to be more resourceful than he looked like. He otherwise wouldn't have survived all these years as a well-known detective in a busy and troubled city like Madrid.

The blond took out a book from his brown bag. He had to relax himself a little before going to sleep.

About two hours later, Ludwig was still reading, time completely forgotten and sleep still too far away. Suddenly, he heard the phone by his dresser ring.

His brow furrowed. What in the heavens? One thirty in the morning? Who would call at this hour?

He hesitated a moment before standing up and answering the phone on the dresser.

"…Hello?"

On the other side of the line, a woman's voice echoed. "_I am so terribly sorry to disturb you, sir! I hope you weren't asleep yet!_" Ludwig recognized the woman's voice. It was the receptionist of the hotel.

"No, not at all, I wasn't sleeping yet. What is it?" He asked politely.

"_There is a phone call for you, from a man who refused to say his name on the phone! He says it is important, I trust you know this man, sir?_" The woman asked, worried.

Ludwig frowned. There could be only three people who would want to call him at the moment: Carriedo, Kirkland or Delisi. He guessed it was one of the three.

"Sure, please put him on. Thanks, miss." He answered. He sat down on his bed as he waited for the caller to connect.

Some rustling signalled the connection. A hushed voice reached his ears, but it certainly wasn't one he had been expecting. And it spoke German.

"_Listen closely, because I won't repeat myself: Vargas will be dismissed tonight at three from the hospital, not tomorrow morning. That is all I can say to help._" A small pause. "_Get that bastard._"

This being said, the call ended.

Ludwig stared unbelievingly at the phone in his palm, as his brain processed what had just happened.

The medic, Zwingli, had called him. He had somehow found his number, and he had called to warn him that Italy would leave the hospital tonight, when nobody would see. He had deemed him trustworthy enough to call him for it. He had risked his sister's safety so that he would perhaps get something that would incriminate the Mafioso.

Ludwig almost forgot his camera when he bolted out of his room.

* * *

He was standing in a dark alley, away from the streetlights, leaning onto the side of a building. He swallowed, glancing nervously at his watch. It was almost three in the morning. It wouldn't be long now… His eyes went to the exit of the hospital.

He glanced at the watch again.

Three o'clock.

There wasn't a dog on the streets.

And then he saw something moving behind the ground glass of the hospital. Three people, standing around a fourth who seemed to be pushing something. Ludwig vaguely recognized it as… a wheelchair, maybe?

He swallowed again. He felt oddly nervous and tense, as if something bad could happen any minute now. As if anything could just go wrong.

The glass and metal door opened, the five men exiting the building. Indeed, the fourth person was pushing a wheelchair with Italy in it. A black car stopped not too far away, engine still on, most probably waiting for them.

Ludwig's hand went to reach for his camera.

That's when he felt something cold pressing against the back of his head.

His eyes widened in shock as he recognized it as the metal of a gun barrel.

"I knew he shouldn't have trusted you. Don't _fucking_ move." A disappointed voice behind him ordered in English.

Ludwig stopped immediately, his hand mere millimetres from the camera, and at the same time mere centimetres from the Walther P5.

"Move your hands up. Slowly." The voice continued. "Don't you even think about dirty tricks."

Ludwig's brain started working again, while with his eyes he followed Italy and his gorillas who were slowly walking away to the car. Damn, Kirkland had warned him of muggers. Even if he was Vargas' best buddy, in the dark it made no difference at all who he was. "If it's money you're looking for, I don't have any."

"Who cares about fucking money. Hands up, I said!" The voice commanded, pressing the gun a little more to the back of his neck.

The German slowly obliged, but was already thinking of a way to disarm the man behind him. He wondered what he wanted. As soon as both his hands were beside his head, the voice let out a soft chuckle.  
"You thought you were smart, didn't you… Fritz Beilschmidt?" the voice mocked him.

The German didn't answer. He breathed in deeply. The men were around the car and helping Italy get in it. He'd soon lose him…! Yet, something the voice said threw him completely off-guard and made him forget everything about Italy.

"…Or should I call you _Ludwig_…?" the voice hissed.

That shocked him. His cover was blown…!  
He immediately reacted, his brain mechanically analyzing the situation. Most probably, the man would be right-handed. The voice didn't come from somewhere above him, it meant the man wasn't taller than him, actually he probably was a little shorter. Thus, he would have his right arm raised. And his side would be unprotected.

Ludwig quickly ducked and turned 180 degrees to his right, jabbing his right elbow in the man's unprotected ribs.

A surprised cry and a bang echoed through the alley, and Ludwig was ready to face his opponent. He swiftly took out his trusty Walther P5 but the man, shrouded in darkness, knocked it out of his hands. He barely managed to curse, holding the offended hand, before he staring down a Beretta's barrel. Ludwig stopped moving immediately.

They both were panting, adrenaline pumping in them. He tried to discern the man's face in the dark, and had the strangest déjà-vu.

For some dumb trick of fate, a scooter passed by, and lit the alley for the smallest of moments. In the dim and momentary yellow light, Ludwig discerned the face of his attacker.

And he was confused more than ever.

This man wasn't supposed to be standing in front of him.  
This man was supposed to be in a not too far away car, together with henchmen…!

So why the hell was Italy Vargas standing right in front of him?!

Italy(?) cursed at the momentary light, and glanced at something behind Ludwig. That's when the German was struck from behind with the butt of a gun.

The strike was hard, yet not enough to make him fall unconscious completely. At least not immediately.

He vaguely heard some muffled voices, on the background. As if behind a thick wall of glass.

"You fucking idiots, what took you so long?!"

A mumbled sentence Ludwig didn't catch was the answer.

"Well, at least you got him. And I think the _crucco_ will get the hint."

Ludwig hear some footsteps, and a shoe lifting his cheek up.

"Damn bastard, consider yourself lucky to still be alive. It's not my concern, or job, to finish you. Thank whichever star you were born under, because we don't like liars. Stay the fuck away from the Vargas family, _capito?_"

Something finally clicked in Ludwig's mind, as if two puzzle pieces had finally connected, showing the whole picture.

Realisation struck him harder than the butt of that gun had.

How could he have been so stupid.

How could they all have been so stupid.

So simply, utterly _stupid_.

It had almost been obvious.

Then, nothing.

He felt himself slip, and everything went black.

* * *

**Well, that escalated quickly.**

**(Btw, poor Switzy and his sister...! As well as poor Luddy lying inconscious in an alley... ._.)**

**Nothing more to say, except that I LOVE YOU ALL and that I hope to see you next chapter! (0w0)/**

**Ciao ciao!**

**...**

_**Crucco :**__(italilan) Kraut_

**_Capito? : _**_(italian) Understood?_

_**Polaroid SX-70 : **__It's a folding single lens reflex Land camera, produced by the Polaroid Corporation from 1972. Its pictures ejected automatically and developed quickly without any chemical residue. Could fit in a pocket because it was foldable and could take five pictures in ten seconds, both actions impossible for the previous Land cameras._


	11. Twins

**Ciao everybody! :D**

**How are you all? I hope good!  
Oh, and I also hope you'll like this chapter (because I personally don't...!) **

**Next chapter will be much better, I promise... BWAHAHAHAHA! **

**Ahem. Onto the current chapter, folks... ;P (warning, long rant at end of chapter!)**

**Please sit back, und ENJOY...!**

* * *

Antonio was taking a relaxed stroll through the many alleys of Palermo. He had been walking quite a lot, actually. Hours. Mostly because he had the nasty habit of getting lost easily. So why take strolls, at night especially? The answer was simple, he just liked walking a lot. It relaxed him, and it left him ample time to think.

He had been thinking about Ludwig and Vargas. The German was sometimes acting odd, when talking about the Mafioso. Was he getting too attached to Italy? Was the plan going too far? It could be a good thing, no?

While musing on these thoughts, he continued walking through the deserted streets, when suddenly he heard a gunshot and a cry echo through the night.

Immediately, he was alert. He swiftly changed direction he was walking to and turned to his right, where the sound had come from. Half running, half walking, he tried to reach the destination. In the meantime, thoughts and hypothesises were already raging inside his detective head.

Who had shot, and why? Was it a mugger? A thief? A fight gone too far? Self defence? A drunkard? A killer?

…Mafia?

Corner after corner, heading to whatever place the gunshot had come from, he realized he was getting closer to the hospital. An uneasy feeling started building itself in the pit of his stomach, as if it were knotting itself up. Oh, he had a bad feeling about this…

He turned the umpteenth corner, and found himself in a long alley, light coming from the not too far away hospital at the end of said alley. He heard the sound of screeching tires of a car speeding away, and he saw a body crumpled on the floor.

"Oh no…" he breathed.

He hurried over to the person, hoping that the worst hadn't happened yet. If that hadn't happened, it would be easy, they were near a hospital, after all.

First, he quickly got to the end of the alley and looked left and right in the street. There was no one in sight, the assaulter had already left. Antonio cursed himself. It had probably been that car he had heard leaving moments before.

He ran back and skidded to a halt near the body. He went on his knees and hovered over him. The man was lying down on his left side, he couldn't see his face. Antonio grabbed his shoulder and turned so he would be facing him, and had the scare of his life. His eyes went wide, as he stared at the blond under him.

Ludwig?!

Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no…! Why the hell was he even here?! He was supposed to be sleeping in the hotel!

He quickly noticed there was some blood by the left side of his head, a grazed wound that was already turning into a purple bump. He checked for bullet wounds anywhere, but he couldn't find anything. Relief filled his chest up as he sighed. Somebody had simply bludgeoned him with something… he was only unconscious. But who had shot, then? And why? He saw a gun some meters away on the ground, and noticed it was a foreign model. Probably Ludwig's. Had he shot, trying to defend himself?

He stood up and went to pick up the gun. He tentatively felt the barrel and the hole with his fingers.

No. It was still cold. Ludwig hadn't shot. The assaulter had? But why not shoot at Ludwig? Had he missed? Or had it been unintentional?

He tried to remember the cry he had heard. It hadn't been Ludwig's voice, which was much too deep. So Ludwig had reacted, and the assaulter had cried out.

He tried to rebuild the scene in his mind.

The assaulter had had a gun, and had seen his prey. Ludwig's back had probably been turned to him, as the German was probably looking at the hospital. It seemed more plausible than looking at a dark alley.

So, the assaulter had creeped up to the German, and poked him with his gun, threatening or ordering something. What could he have asked? Money? Probably. But wasn't Ludwig already well-known in Palermo to be a dear buddy of Italy? It had probably been to dark to notice, he assumed.

Ludwig would have reacted by spinning around and hitting the assaulter that had been standing too close or in a not perfect position, and the trigger would have been unintentionally pulled. The assaulter had cried out at that. Ludwig would have tried to get his own gun out, but would have been disarmed.

So, there would have been a stalled situation. Not really, since one was holding a gun and the other not.

But the thing he couldn't explain was the blow to the head. The position of the wound was on the side of the German's head, yet slightly behind at the same time. So there had been an accomplice, maybe? That had snuck behind the German to knock him out?

He checked Ludwig's pockets. They were still full. He had his wallet, his watch… even an expensive-looking camera. Antonio frowned. If the assaulter hadn't looked for money… what then…?

He helped up Ludwig a little so his back would lean against the wall of the alley. He gently patted the German's cheeks. Once he woke up, he would tell him everything that had happened, and everything would be clear.

"Hey, Luuuudwig," he called out mockingly. "Wake up, sleepy head!"

The blond groaned.

"Luuuuuuuuuudwiiiiig…" He continued whining, pecking his cheeks.

Again, a groan. "Stop it, Gil…" A murmur escaped his lips, while his eyes were still closed. Antonio frowned. Who was he talking about? Oh well. He continued his small teasing moment.

"Wakey-wakey, rise and shiiiiiine…!"

"Gil if you don't stop _this instant_ I swear-" Ludwig growled, opening his eyes and straightening his back against the wall. But he stopped mid-sentence when he realized who he was talking to.

"…Oh. It's you, Antonio."

Antonio smiled, having succeeded in waking him up. But he returned serious almost immediately.

"Ludwig, what are you doing here? What happened…?"

The German blinked a few times, a hand going for the bruise on his head. As soon as his fingertips brushed over it, he winced hissing. He was starting to feel dizzy as well, added to the titanic headache he already had. His memories were hazy… what happened, indeed?

"…I… I don't remember…" He muttered, frowning, as he looked at his knees.

Antonio swallowed. "Are you sure? Why are you even here?"

Ludwig's brow furrowed, as he tried to remember. "Zwingli…called me. He told me… what did he tell me?" His eyes widened a little. "That's right, he told me Italy was going to be dismissed from the hospital tonight, not tomorrow…"  
Antonio looked sideways. "Okay, so you went out to check, obviously. But someone attacked you, right?"  
"…_Ja_…" Ludwig answered, a bit uncertain still.

The Spaniard pressed on. "Try to remember the attacker's face! Because if you do, we could get him in jail, you know. How did he look like?"

Ludwig's frown deepened. He brought a hand to his head, covering tenderly the wound. "It was too dark… but wait, there was a flash…" He remembered being confused, and also feeling regret of having been stupid. Why would that be?

"Please remember, Ludwig." Antonio insisted.

And finally, it clicked again. The mist in Ludwig's head cleared for a moment, and he remembered everything. His eyes widened, his eyes fixed on the wall behind the Spaniard.

"Antonio, we were so stupid…"

The Spaniard blinked. "What…?"

Ludwig smirked, a chuckle escaping his lips. The dizziness was returning again, he could feel himself slipping again into the darkness. "So stupid… hahaha, it's ridiculous…"

"Ludwig, you're scaring me." Antonio swallowed, not being used to the German behaving like this.

"So, so stupid… I get it now, he never was crazy…" The blond continued, his vision blurring. The tiredness and the blow to the head were puling him down again, it seemed so much better to just fall asleep. And forget everything for a while. Be gone from the world for a couple of hours. Yes, that sounded very good.

"What are you talking about?" Antonio asked, not understanding.

"He never was crazy…" Ludwig repeated.  
"Who?!" the Spaniard asked, exasperate.  
"Italy… It's not one person, they're two."

"What…?" Antonio asked, unbelieving.

Ludwig's eyes closed. "They're two, probably twins… it's so obvious it sounds ridiculous…"

The Spaniard grabbed the shoulders of the other. "Are you… sure…?"

"Of course I am…"

"Tell me what happened!" Antonio shook the German's shoulders once.

Blue eyes blinked slowly. "Tired…"  
"Don't fall asleep! You have to tell me what happened!" Antonio pressed on, shaking his shoulders more times.

But Ludwig was already falling asleep. Before he could do so completely, though, he managed to tell the Spaniard one final thing. "Two Italies… My cover… blown."

Then, his head lolled to one side, as he finally went to dreamland again. And Antonio felt his insides become as cold as ice.

* * *

He dreamt.

It was _that_ dream again.

He loathed it so much. And he couldn't do anything about it. Just stand by and watch as it happened, _again_. The nightmare he hated the most.

At the end of said dream, he was running towards a grey silhouette that could barely be seen in the darkness surrounding it. He stretched out one arm, wanting to stop it. He called out a name. But it was too far away to hear it.

And then it happened.

He blinked, and the silhouette had disappeared. Instead of the grey figure, now in front of him there was a tall wall, which stretched out left and right infinitely. The wall was also grey, yet somehow it was a different hue. And it smelled of death.

He screamed out the name again, but a cold wind suddenly started blowing so hard that he could barely hear himself.

He felt so cold, he-

* * *

"Damn it, Beilschmidt, wake up already!" An angry voice ordered.

Ludwig blinked groaning. The coldness of the dream was still lingering even if he was awake… he felt especially cold on his face, he wondered why.

He lazily cracked his eyes open. Oh, Kirkland had thrown the sheets off his bed. And someone had splashed water in his face. The coldness was explained.

Said British Captain was glaring daggers at him, yet his gaze softened and he sighed out of relief when he noticed he had awoken. "Ah, finally! I thought I would have to throw you out of the bed to wake you. Weren't you a light sleeper? It's already eight in the morning."

Ludwig swallowed dryly, before sitting up sighing. He covered his face with a hand. Why did he have headache? And why was Kirkland in his hotel room?! He noticed the Brit didn't have his uniform.

"With all do respect, Captain, what are you doing in my room?" He asked, eyes still closed.

"With all do respect, Beilschmidt, this _isn't_ your room." The Brit retorted, smirking.

Ludwig's head snapped up as he glanced at his surroundings. Indeed, the room didn't have a window. This was Antonio's room.

"Why am I here?" He asked, swinging his legs off the bed so he could sit straight. He noticed he was wearing the same trousers as the day before, but no shirt, jacket, shoes or even socks.

"I think Carriedo took advantage of your momentary deep slumber and swapped rooms. He seemed to greatly enjoy the window." Arthur smirked, looking at something at the side of his head. "Had a rough night?"  
Ludwig shook his head, "No, I-…"  
A pang of pain erupted from his head. He closed his eyes hissing, bringing up a hand to feel at the left side of it, where he felt something throb. His eyes widened when he felt a bandage with his fingertips. "What happened…?"  
The Brit cocked a massive eyebrow. "I was hoping you could tell me. Antonio lacks… explanatory skills. Though I do wonder if he does so on purpose or not..."

Talk of the devil, half a second later Antonio slammed the door open. The mere sound of it made Ludwig flinch.

"Ah! You're awake!"

"Thanks for stating the obvious, Carriedo." Arthur commented.

The Spaniard pouted. "I was worried…! Anyway, how do you feel?" he asked, looking at the German. He shut the door quite ungracefully again, earning another flinch from the German.

"As if I were run over by a train, thank you." Ludwig answered honestly. His memory was slowly returning again. Sheesh, he must have hit his head pretty hard to have all these side effects…! And finally, he remembered everything again. Him, waiting in an alley for Italy to come out. Italy coming out with four henchmen, in a wheelchair. Someone threatening him, his cover being blown and that someone turning out to be another Italy. A henchman knocking him out with the butt of a gun. The final warning coming from the second Italy.

"Beilschmidt, are you feeling all right? You seem pale." Arthur asked, genuine concern in his tone.

Ludwig slowly shook his head. "No… I mean, yes, I feel all right, but…" he swallowed. What should he do? He wasn't quite sure.

"Antonio, my cover is blown." Ludwig said, glancing sideways at the Spaniard.

He nodded. "Yes, I know. It was the last thing you said before passing out."

The Brit cocked a bushy brow. "So 'Fritz' is no more?"

"Sadly, no. So I will probably cooperate with you of the police, other than with Antonio..." He paused. "And…" he wasn't sure if he wanted to finish the sentence. And then he asked himself, why not? Wasn't he trying to catch him? _Them_? Yet, something he couldn't quite name didn't want him to speak. Didn't want him to tell the Brit what he had discovered.

"And…?" Arthur asked expectantly. Antonio eyed him, waiting to see what his partner would decide.

Ludwig decided to ignore that internal block of his. "Italy Vargas isn't crazy."  
The Captain looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"  
"It's a set of twins."

That definitely left the Brit incredulous. "He's _what?!_"

"Yes. Definitely. I know it sounds ridiculous, yet…" Ludwig quickly added.

Arthur's mouth opened and closed several times, and once or twice he tried to speak, but couldn't find the words. He walked back and forth in silence through the room, before sitting down gingerly on a chair, eyes wide. "Bloody hell. Such idiots we all are."  
Antonio was still staring at him, his green gaze so fixed it kind of unnerved Ludwig. He chose to simply ignore the Spaniard's gaze. "So this all explains how he could have an alibi all the time, am I right?"

The Brit slowly nodded, looking at his knees. "Yes. Yes, for God's sake! It is clear now! How could we have been so blind? How could everyone have been so blind?!"

Ludwig nodded, his headache not hindering his train of thoughts. "Yes, it perfectly makes sense. The two simply never show up at the same time in public, so no one could possibly think there are two of them around. Also, the astounding loyalty of his-...I mean _their_ henchmen works in their favour. Most of the 'confirmed' list probably know this peculiar trait of their Boss."

Antonio shrugged, leaning onto the closed door. "I did wonder why so many people were willing to work with a mental and lunatic Boss... Turns out he isn't mental!" He smiled triumphantly.

"So they do not show up at the same time in public. Yet, when there is a job to do, one of the two goes out for the dirty work, while the other remains in public, seen by dozens of people. Such a clever scheme..." Arthur murmured, eyes narrowing while looking at his hands.

Ludwig slowly nodded. "That's what I thought too."

A good whole minute passed in silence, the realisation sinking into them all. Then, Arthur abruptly stood up, the chair loudly protesting against the floor.

"I have to tell my men." And he headed for the door.

"...No." Ludwig caught himself stating involuntarily. He blinked, not expecting that from himself. And judging by the looks on their faces, neither did Antonio or Arthur.

"I beg your pardon?" The Captain asked, frowning, one hand already raised to get the doorknob.

"I mean... Knowing this fact gives us a great advantage. But spreading the information, even if it is only amongst your men... the Vargas will most certainly find out in a couple of days that their act is blown. And they will probably change tactic. Knowing their act, now it shouldn't be too difficult to catch them red-handed." Ludwig tried to explain. Yet, even if he was speaking the truth – it _was _a big advantage, knowing they were twins – he felt as if he were lying. He cursed his damn brain and that illogical part of his mind.

However, the Captain seemed convinced enough. "You're right, Beilschmidt. It is careless to slip out information as hot as this one too quickly. I'll tell Delisi, as always, but you know you can trust him. Gentlemen, I must congratulate you both from the bottom of my heart. Your astounding work is quickly bearing fruits." The Brit smiled, and grabbed the doorknob. "It's almost unbelievable, keep going like this, and in no time we'll have not one, but _two_ Vargas in jail. I almost feel too happy for words! Have a good day, the both of you."

The Captain left the two detectives in the room, and walked down the stairs feeling as if he had wings at his feet and heart. He just couldn't stop smiling. They were closing in on them. On the not one, but two bloody demons that were the source of all his problems in this city. Soon they would have them both. While he rode with his car home, he still couldn't stop smiling.

* * *

Ludwig stood up, arching his back, Antonio still eyeing him. Ludwig was kind of getting unnerved.

"Tell me Antonio, why do you keep staring at me?"

"You're not telling something. I mean, the reasons you gave the Captain were all righteous, but..." Antonio's eyes narrowed.

Darn it, Antonio was all but the fool everyone saw him as. Ludwig gritted his teeth, as he got to the small sink in the corner of the room to wash his face. "So what if I am?"

The Spaniard simply leaned against the closed door again, glancing at the ceiling. "Well, it's just... we're supposed to be partners, Ludwig. We shouldn't keep things for ourselves. We're supposed to trust each other."

Ludwig splashed his face with water, dried his features with a small beige towel. He supported himself on the sink itself, elbows locked, his head bowed. He guessed he could tell him.

"I know it sounds strange, but... I think I might have gotten too deep into Operation 'Socializing Smoke Fan'. And this stupid part of me keeps scolding me for not even thanking him. For that bullet. Because I really didn't." He took a shaky breath. "Antonio, he's a criminal. Both of them are. We are detectives. We are supposed to catch them. Yet why do I feel like I don't want to? And..." he turned around to face the Spaniard, "...I somehow have the impression that he doesn't even _want_ to be in the mafia."

Antonio took a deep breath, folding his arms to his chest. "Ludwig, he might be only acting..."

Ludwig shook his head, holding one hand to the bandage, the other pointing at the Spaniard. "_No_, Antonio! _You_ said it, at the beginning of this whole mess. That Vargas was lonely. I am now simply convinced he really is."

"Vargas _murders_ people, Ludwig! Both of them do!" Antonio exclaimed, eyes wide, stepping away from the door. "You weren't there, at the crime scene of the shootout! You didn't see what they did! They blackmail people, they organize thefts and kidnappings, they arrange the 'pizzo' and the black market, terrorizing the honest citizens of Palermo and Sicily! Aren't those enough reasons to catch them?"

Ludwig remained silent, glaring at his own feet. After about half a minute, he answered, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Don't you think I know you're right? Don't you think I read the very same files you read? Don't you think I already thought this through?! I feel as if in my head there is a goddamn football stadium right now, and I'm the ball!"

Antonio didn't answer to this, and so they stood straight, for a couple of minutes, simply looking at each other. The Spaniard's face looked so much different without that lopsided goofy smile, he actually looked intimidating.

Ludwig was the one breaking the silence again. "Look, Antonio, I'm sorry, you're absolutely right. But even so, all the progress I have done with... with one of the Vargas, doesn't count for the other, who gave me a pretty clear warning. I never must approach the Vargas family again. And I can't even tell that I have been attacked by Vargas, because technically he can barely walk on his own, doesn't he?" He looked up at Antonio. "I must pass the ball to you, Antonio. You haven't been compromised yet, you still can sneak behind Vargas' defences."

Antonio nodded, his usual goofy smile now back on his features. The Spaniard changed moods incredibly quickly. "So I just have to be the smoke fan, haha! I'll have to go look for the grumpy one though, because that's the one I got to know... otherwise it would get too suspicious, no?"

Ludwig simply nodded, happy they weren't on war footing anymore. They were partners again. A good relationship between colleagues was truly needed, especially with their kind of jobs. You needed to trust each other.

He sighed, and changed the subject.

"Oh, and I definitely want my room back, you know."

The Spaniard groaned. "Awww, I hoped you wouldn't notice... can't I keep your room? I _need_ a window!" he whined pleadingly.

"Never." He smirked playfully, leaving for his room. He shut the door behind himself, and sighed smiling. These kind of childish skirmishes reminded him so much of-

_Of nobody. _He quickly corrected himself. Actually, it sounded also like the kind of argument the 'innocent' Italy would make. He was immature enough for it, anyway.

_You still didn't thank him, you ungrateful bastard. _The annoying voice in his head said, the image of Italy shoving him aside set vividly in his memory.

He bared his teeth again, narrowing his eyes. _Shut up. Antonio is right. Vargas murders people. Saving me doesn't bring all those other victims back. I need to catch him before he hurts other people. I'm going to get you, Italy Vargas. Both of you._

As he dressed himself, he was still hearing that damn part of his mind complaining.

_Ungrateful bastard._

* * *

**OooOOOoOOOoh, a serious Antonio...! D8 Run for your lives! Unless you are Ludwig and can confront him... XD**

**WTF, I'm still trying to move the spotlight towards Antonio and 'dangerous Italy', but still somehow I don't succeed! Damn it! DX (I tried... the beginning of almost every chapter starts with Antonio's POV! ._.) Oh well, now shit is going to get real, Antonio is going to try and 'smoke fan' the dangerous twin! XD **

**To all the Americans out there, I heard that school already started! D8 I wish you luck, and shine bright (and be strong) as a Doitsu! 3**

**See you all next chapter, I wish you all a wonderful day! :D**

* * *

**(This has nothing to do with the story or anything, I just liked it...!)  
DRUNK STEREOTYPES OF THE WORLD:**

**-Italians: There's not much difference between a sober and a drunk Italian.**

**-English: It is better to deal with a bunch of tigers than to deal with a drunk Englishman.**

**-Spaniards: Levels of a Spaniard's drunkness; ****_1) borracho. 2) muy borracho. 3) cantos populares. 4) cantos patrioticos. 5) cantos religiosos. 6) negaci_**_**ón**_**_ de la evidencia. 7) apoteosis final. _****[1) drunk. 2) very drunk. 3) popular songs. 4) patriotic songs. 5) religious songs. 6) denial of the evidence. 7) final apotheosis]**

**-Germans: Usually jovial while still not completely drunk, once drunk they get all mopey and sad.**

**-Chinese: Can hold their alcohol very well, you can't tell if they drank. When they really do go nutz with the booze, there will be random yelling and spontaneous flirting with their partner. (Thank you, _Ayaku-Chan!_)**

**-Americans: "Duuuude. Like, totally punch my abs. I swear I won't feel a thing." or, "Oh yeah? I bet I can climb that traffic light and put a traffic cone on top of it!"= Ergo, Americans do very stupid things and dares when drunk. (Thank you, _Cherryappleblossom9201 _and_ Hammsters!_)**

**-Irish/Scottish: Are always drunk, no one knows how they are when actually sober. (Thank you, _Katie-Kat1129!_)**

**(If anyone else has some stereotypes like these, I'd love to hear them, and I'll add them to this list! X3)**


	12. Day one: Antonio version

**Ciao everybody!**

**How are you all? I am so happy you enjoyed last chapter! (Because as I said, I personally didn't... so yeah. I think the stereotypes at the end helped, lol. If you know any more drunk stereotypes, please let me know! I'd love to add them to the list!)**

**Anyway, I like this chapter way more, and I actually succeeded into finally shoving the spotlight towards Antonio and grumpy Italy!**

**And I'm getting fairly excited, fufufufufu...**

**AHEM!**

**Please sit back, und ENJOY...!**

* * *

Antonio didn't expect the Boss to be active that day. After all, only one of the twins could barely walk again, so he guessed there wouldn't be too much activity. He spent the morning and afternoon relaxing on one of the beautiful beaches of Palermo, while Ludwig went to do God knew what together with the Captain. He rented a bicycle and went to this beach called 'Spiaggia Mondello', which was the closest and one of the most popular.

While relaxing to the sound of the waves and surrounded by Italian families enjoying the beach, he thought over the words that Ludwig had spoken.

Ludwig had gotten too attached to Italy. To the 'nice' twin. Yet, something he had said troubled him.

_"...I somehow have the impression that he doesn't even want to be in the mafia."_

It really really _really_ bugged him. Mostly because he remembered the sarcastic tone the other twin had used when talking about the shootout, the 'party'.

He really felt as if what they knew of the two Vargas were just the tip of the iceberg. There had to be much, much more, hidden under the water.

He smiled to himself, his eyes hidden by sunglasses. He propped his hands behind his head, enjoying the sun. Oh well, he had always been good at scuba diving, it wouldn't be too difficult to see the hidden part of the iceberg. He only hoped the waters wouldn't turn out to be too cold for him and kill him before he resurfaced.

* * *

That evening, after a shower, he felt as if the whole world was just a wonderful and happy place. He was at peace with himself, with the world, the universe, everything.

But then he remembered he had a job to do. Antonio sighed, pulling out his notebook from his trousers' pockets.

Would Italy even be around tonight? Maybe, maybe not. It was a possibility, though. Because technically everyone knew that 'Italy' couldn't walk around and so would stay at his villa, maybe the other twin would head out to do something.

Hmmm... the grumpy twin seemed to enjoy alcohol a lot. He remembered the first time he had seen him, and that time just before the 'party'... To find him, he had to search the bars.

That's where he would begin. He opened the notebook, and looked at the two names of the café's he had met Vargas in.

He'd start with those two. He smiled, put the notebook in his pocket again, checked his gun, and then headed out.

* * *

Three hours and a couple of sore feet later, he still hadn't found him. Antonio hunched his shoulders, discouraged. He probably hadn't left the villa in the first place, how stupid of him to think otherwise.

"_Oye_, why does it have to be so difficult...?" He sighed. He had entered in every single bar he had set his eyes on, and he especially checked multiple times the two he had been in with Vargas. But no luck still.

He kept walking around the yellow-lit streets of the city. He checked his watch. Almost midnight, half of the bars closed around this time... he decided he would try another ten bars, and then call it a night and head for his bed.

At the third bar it was almost midnight. After the sixth he ran into a bunch of drunk thugs he barely managed to escape from. At the eighth he was losing hope of finding the Mafioso.

Yet, when he walked into the ninth bar, he actually _found_ him.

The bar was only half full, however quite noisy. There were four people playing poker in a corner, surrounded by a small crowd, which sometimes would 'oooh' and 'aaaah' at the players' moves, besides the non-stop muttering to each other. Other people were scattered at the various tables, some alone, some with friends, many smoking. The bar counter was completely empty, except for one person. And the simple presence of that person at the counter had probably been the reason why it was empty, and why most customers had seated themselves far away in an ample-radius circle.

He almost couldn't believe his eyes, and he almost didn't see him. He wasn't wearing his usual black striped suit, but a more sober brown one. A polished wooden cane was leaning just beside his high stool. Why would Italy ever need a walking cane? Oh, that's right, he wasn't supposed to walk properly. Antonio had to admit, he the twins paid very good attention to every little detail. He almost thought he had the wrong twin.

But then he noticed he was slumped against the bar, arms covering his head, a small empty glass and a tall bottle containing clear liquid not too far away. The etiquette showed a small name, 'Grappa di pere'. And the bottle was already half-empty.

This image quite unsettled Antonio. Did Vargas spend the nights drinking until dawn? It seemed so incredibly... _sad_. He shook his head.

_Focus, Antonio! You're a detective, not his psychologist, _he told himself.

He nonchalantly went for the bar himself, and sat on a high stool, quite away from Italy. While he ordered a glass of Orujo, he glanced at Vargas to see if he would hear him.

And he did. Slowly, Italy uncovered his head and looked up to see the source of his voice. He didn't have the toothpick in his mouth, this time.

Antonio did as if he had just noticed him, and smiled at him. He waved. "Oh, hello! I didn't see you there! What a coincidence!" His sore feet told him it was anything but a coincidence, but he kept smiling.

Italy stared at him for a moment; then he shook his head, placing his chin against the cold surface of the bar again. "Great. Just great. It seems I must hone my invisibility skills." He groaned sarcastically.

Antonio just kept smiling. He had to be careful, one false step and it would all be over. And who knew what could happen next? Ludwig had managed get away with only a warning, but what would happen when the Vargas noticed they had been fooled _twice_? They wouldn't be too happy, he figured. He swallowed, doing his best to mask his nervousness.

"Hey, uh... Italy?" Wow, it felt so unnatural to call someone by a nation's name.

A grunt was the acknowledgement of him actually hearing the Spaniard.

"Can I sit beside you?" he asked, still smiling.

"If you really have to." Italy muttered.

Antonio quickly changed seats, and was now beside the Boss. The barman shot him a worried glance, before hurriedly giving him his drink.

The Spaniard figured he'd have to start a conversation somehow. Yet he couldn't help but notice that Italy's frown looked deeper than usual.

"Hey, is something wrong, _amigo?_" He heard himself asking before he could stop himself. Well, he figured it was a conversation starter as any other.

Italy let out a short, bitter chuckle. "Fuck yes there is. Actually, too much, if you ask me." He straightened up on his chair again, so he could grab the bottle and pour himself a drink again. He then took the small glass, and emptied it in a second. He stared at the tiny glass between his fingers, and then scowled, bringing it down hard on the counter. "_Ehi Saro! Dammi un bicchiere piú grande. Questo va bene per i passeri, cazzo_." He called out for the barman, who swiftly gave him a bigger glass. The new glass was quickly filled with Grappa, which disappeared in seconds as well.

_Just how much does he drink on one day?!_ Antonio asked himself.

"Would you care to tell me what happened? Can I help?" he said, taking a tentative sip from his Orujo.

Italy stared at his hands, a deep sigh coming from his nostrils. "No. You can't help."

Antonio's eyebrows shot up. Now he was really curious at what had happened. An hypothesis appeared in his mind. Had this anything to do with Ludwig...? "Are you sure? Didn't you tell me you were a rich man? There shouldn't be problems you can't solve, right?" he asked innocently.

Again, a bitter laugh came from the Italian. "That's what you would think, right? But what I am worried about is small, compared to other issues, trust me. But this is my fault, that's the goddamn problem." He filled his glass again. "Fuck."

The Spaniard did his best to keep sounding innocent and naive. "Euh, try telling me. If I really can't help, maybe it will make you feel better...?"

Vargas glared icily at him. "You're getting on my nerves, nosy bastard. Mind your own fucking business."

Antonio's guts churned. Yet he continued smiling. "I'm just worried about you, _amigo_. Really!"

The other remained silent, moving his gaze towards the glass in his hand. "_Amigo_. You call me that even if you barely know me..."

The Spaniard nodded, smiling, before taking a sip from his drink. "Why not? You really are my _amigo_, here!" Antonio noticed a small spark lighting Vargas' eyes, but it disappeared instantly.

Italy shook his head. "Dumbass." He took another swig of his Grappa. Then, he remained silent. Antonio knew he was pondering if he should tell him or not, and he also knew that if he insisted it would be much more likely to have the opposite effect. So he kept his mouth shut.

Indeed, after a good whole minute, Italy talked.

"Okay, I know it sounds fucking stupid. But... I made someone cry."

Antonio was dumbfounded. What in the heavens?! The mafia Boss was worried and frowning more than before because _he made someone cry?!_ The same mafia Boss that had butchered with machineguns those four, actually five, people in that street?!

He tried to sound not too impressed, but he really was astonished. "What do you mean?"

"It means what it fucking means, Saucedo!" Italy growled, knuckles turning white around the glass.

Saucedo? Oh yeah, that was one of his made up surnames.

"Hey, don't be angry with me, I was only asking!" Antonio defended himself. This seemed to calm down the Italian, so he continued. "So... why are you so upset of making this person sad?" Who could it be?

"...I normally wouldn't give a shit about what other people think, but... he is important to me. And I hurt him. Not physically, of course, but..." Italy took a deep breath, closing his eyes. "...I told him something he didn't want to hear. And it made him upset. I hate seeing him fucking cry, damn it."

Something clicked in Antonio's mind. Who would Vargas care about? The only one he could think about was his twin. So he had told his twin something that made him upset... Hmmm, he had a feeling he knew where this was going...

"He didn't believe me at first. He thought I was being mean. But then he was confronted with the truth, and... fuck. He started crying." Italy continued, staring at his glass again.

Antonio thought very carefully of his next words. "...Then why tell him, if you knew it would hurt him? Or didn't you know it would happen?"

"Of course I fucking knew it would happen! He's a crybaby, for fuck's sake. But... I had to tell him. Or else he would have gotten much more hurt. And not by me." Vargas growled, taking another sip of his drink, finishing his glass.

Something clicked in Antonio's mind. His eyes widened, and he had to mask it by taking a big sip of his Orujo. The only thing that came into mind was Ludwig's real identity, which had been discovered. So the other twin had been upset because of it... Did he care enough for Ludwig to actually _cry?_

"...Not by you? How so? What happened...?" He asked, trying to sound as innocent as possible.

Italy bared his teeth, glaring at the empty glass. "Okay... Someone lied to this person. Let's call this someone 'Fritz', while the other person I care for... let's call him 'Dimwit'. So Fritz lied to Dimwit about something, and I caught Fritz doing it. Fritz wasn't who he said he was, the sneaky bastard. I... I told Fritz to fuck off, and told Dimwit the truth. Dimwit cried. Tada, end of the story, and _I_ am the villain again. Fuck."

Yes, it definitely was Ludwig alright, Antonio decided. He thought it was kind of curious that he called the nicer twin 'Dimwit'. And he found it ironic that Vargas thought of himself as the villain, because in the end, he really was. "... You aren't the villain, you did the right thing, no?" The lie easily rolled off his tongue, so easily he found it disgusting. He never liked lying. "You caught someone lying, and even if the truth hurt, you told it to... 'Dimwit'."

"You really think I did the right thing?" Italy finally turned to look at him again, and Antonio was surprised to see his eyes twinkle in the dimly lit bar.

"A-are you crying...?" Antonio asked, astonished.

Vargas' eyes widened and he immediately turned away, muttering curses. "Fuck no, as if I'd cry for such a thing!"

"It shows you care. It doesn't make you a villain, think about it." Antonio smiled, finishing his drink. That human side that was still there even in serial killers, he had finally found it in Italy. That thing that makes you a human, like all the others. It wasn't the same thing for everyone, naturally. For some it was a place, for some it was an object, a memory, a photograph, for others a person. For grumpy Italy Vargas, it was his twin.

Vargas still was turned away, but spoke nonetheless. "... You know what, dumbass? You were right. Talking to you made me feel better." He admitted, getting out his wallet to pay the barman. Antonio paid for his own drink as well, and jumped off the high stool.

"It was nice to see you again! And I was happy to cheer you up." Was he lying now? Antonio wasn't sure anymore... what was this?!

Italy scoffed, picking a toothpick from his pocket and sticking it into his mouth."I wasn't fucking sad. Dimwit was, and probably still is."

"Sure, keep telling yourself that, _amigo_." Antonio smiled. "I think I'll go now, it's getting kind of late, so..." he shrugged.

Vargas got off the chair too, but with seemingly more difficulty. Antonio frowned, and then he noticed him picking up the cane and leaning on it. Oh, of course. He had to do as if he had just been operated, like the twin Dimwit...

Italy followed the Spaniard out of the bar, leaning heavily on the cane. Antonio heard cheering coming from inside, someone had won at poker in that corner.

Vargas smiled, looking up at the dark sky. "I think I'll drop the bottle for tonight. I'm in an actual good mood. I'd never say this to other people, so be grateful when I say... thank you."

Antonio's smile simply widened. "_No hay problema_. Whenever you are sad, tell somebody, okay? You really feel better when you do."

Italy gravely nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He seemed to be thinking about something. "You know what, Saucedo... are you busy, this Sunday?"

Antonio blinked, turning to look at the Mafioso. The day after tomorrow? "No, I am a free tourist on holiday, of course I'm not busy...!" he laughed.

The Italian smirked. "Idiot. I'm throwing a party, and I'd like to invite you."

Antonio opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. A party? What in the heavens? For what? Wait... had he just been invited to a mafia Boss' party?!

"Oh, of course! Why not, I'd love to!" he smiled. He _had_ to seize this opportunity. "Where? What kind of party is it?" he asked enthusiastically.

Italy scowled again. "It's just a party like any other, moron. At my house."

Antonio mentally cheered, and had trouble keeping it hidden. This was a golden chance! He could get in the infamous Vargas Villa! The one nobody had ever gotten into! "That's awesome! I haven't been to many parties, but I just know it will be great!" he beamed.

"Do you have a suit for it? Because you're definitely not entering my house with _those_ clothes on. There will be other... _rich _people at my party, you can't show up like this." Italy commented smugly.

"Hey! What is wrong with my clothes?" Antonio exclaimed, hurt.

"Oh well, I guess I'll arrange something." Vargas shrugged, starting to walk away.

"Wait a second! What's the occasion?" The Spaniard asked with genuine curiosity.

Italy stopped, and turned around to look at him. He raised an eyebrow. "For my recovery, of course."

"Recovery? From what?" Antonio asked, clueless.

"You see me walking around limping with a goddamn stick and you don't even ask yourself why?" Italy asked in disbelief.

Antonio blinked. Of course. Technically, he had just 'recovered'... but he hadn't thought about it, because he knew that the one that had really been hurt was still probably at his Villa... "Oh, actually, no! Did something happen?"

Vargas sighed, shaking his head. "Moron. Anyway, it was just an accident. But it was serious enough to land me in the hospital, and I got dismissed yesterday, so... it is to celebrate."

"Oh! I hope it wasn't anything too serious! The cane is temporary, right?" Antonio smiled.

Italy scowled again. "Of course, I don't plan on walking with this thing all my life. Anyway, I have to go now. I'll see you on Sunday, then. Ten o'clock, not a minute too early, not a minute too late, got it? Just ask for directions for Villa Dante." And he started 'limping' away.

"Don't you need a hand to get home?" Antonio offered his help, not completely without a purpose. Maybe he would find out something else.

"No, I don't need any fucking help, Antonio. Go home. I'll see you on Sunday, got it bastard?" Italy snarled, without stopping.

"Hey, you said my name! It's the first time!" Antonio noticed. Why it made him feel happy inside, he wouldn't know. But he ignored the feeling.

"Whatever. Look, I'm really going now." The Italian continued, still walking away.

"Okay, goodnight!" He exclaimed, waving even if the other couldn't see. Italy muttered something without turning, and briefly brought up a hand to salute him. Then, he disappeared in the darkness of the street.

Antonio quickly walked away into a lateral alley, and then jumped in the air.

"_¡Sí!_" he whispered/shouted to himself, beaming.

He had a free ticket into one of the most secluded areas of Palermo! Even better, he had been invited in! This would get him enough opportunities to find evidence of Vargas' activities, besides having the chance to stick his nose into affairs that had probably never seen the sunlight.

Could things get even better...?

He smiled to himself, while heading for the hotel. He couldn't wait to tell Ludwig about this.

* * *

**Lol, Dimwit. Grumpy Italy, you're so mean XD**

**I'm really really really excited about the next few chapters, I hope you are as well!**

**I wish you all a wonderful day, see you next chapter! ;D**

**...**

_**Grappa di pere :**__ (italian) Pear Grappa. Grappa is an Italian alcoholic beverage, usually grape-based pomace brandy (pomace:solid remains of grapes after wine-making; pomace brandy: liquor distilled from pomace). Grappa can be distilled from various remains of fruits, not only grapes, including pears, apples, cherries, blackberries... Alcoholic content, between 37,5% and 60%._

**_Orujo :_**_ A pomace brandy from northern Spain. Its name comes from the expression "Aguardiente de Orujo". Alcoholic content, over 50%._

_**Amigo : **__(spanish) friend_

**_Ehi Saro! Dammi un bicchiere piú grande. Questo va bene per i passeri, cazzo. : _**_(italian) Hey Saro! Give me a bigger glass. This one is good for sparrows, damn it. (Saro is the Sicilian name 'Rosario' shortened.)_


	13. Trap!

**Ciao everybody! How are you? 8D I hope well!**

**This chapter is long as hell, but that is also caused by the historical note at the end, hope you don't mind XD It talks about what happened in 1968 (date I mentioned in chapter 5) and it is pretty damned important to understand how people felt around that time.**

**Also, for those who asked, YES there will be backstories for our two detectives! :3 **

**But without any further ado, here's the chapter!**

**Please sit back, und ENJOY...!**

* * *

That night, the Spaniard returned to his room at almost two in the morning. He thought better of waking his fellow detective, and went to bed. He slept lightly, the excitement still making his bones shiver, and as soon as dawn came - before six in the morning - he called the Captain and then went to Ludwig's hotel room.

Antonio beamed while looking at his astonished - and just awakened - colleague.

"Are you kidding me?" Ludwig gaped. "You can enter, no, you actually were _invited_ in Vargas' home? Tomorrow?!"

Antonio puffed out his chest proudly. "Exactly!"

"_How?!_" Ludwig's eyes were as wide as saucers, he looked so funny Antonio had trouble keeping himself from bursting into a fit of laughter.

"I'll tell you as soon as our favourite bushy-browed Captain arrives…" the Spaniard teased.

Ludwig was about to snap at him to be serious, when they both heard a voice coming from outside the room. "That is _mister_ bushy-browed Captain for you, Carriedo. Now open the bloody door so I can hear as well, will you?"

His face as red as a ripe tomato, Antonio unlocked and opened the door. "Oh, why h-hello there, Captain! Fancy seeing you here, didn't expect you to be here so fast…" he rubbed the back of his head, awkward of having been caught saying that of his - technically - superior. Arthur shook his head as he entered, while Ludwig facepalmed.

"Now will you _please_ tell us how you got free access to that impenetrable household?" the German muttered behind his hand as soon as the door closed.

Antonio explained what had happened quickly. How he had found the grumpy twin, talked to him, cheered him up - although he omitted _why_ the twin was feeling down, he would tell Ludwig later - and how he had been invited to a party.

Arthur's eyes widened, as soon as he heard the word 'party'. "What did you say? This Sunday, tomorrow? Are you sure?"

The Spaniard blinked, noticing the worried expression of the Captain. "Yes…why?"

"Bloody hell. Bloody hell. Bloody. _Hell!_" Arthur sat down on the bed, covering his forehead with a hand.

"What is it, Kirkland?" Ludwig asked, troubled.

The Brit completely ignored him. "Did Vargas mention who else there'd be at the party…?" he asked, staring at the floor.

Antonio glanced up, trying to remember. "…Uh, I'm not sure… I think he said there would be other rich people, I guess…"

"Seriously, Carriedo, are you that blind?! For Christ's sake, it's a bloody trap!" Arthur exclaimed, slapping a hand on his knee.

The Spaniard blinked, the excitement ebbing away and starting to feel unsure. A small tingle of irritation sparked in his chest. Had Italy lied to him…? Not that he himself hadn't lied but… "What do you mean…?"

Arthur closed his eyes, sighing. "I had heard as well that Vargas was throwing a party this Sunday. Apparently, to celebrate 'his' recovery." The Brit stressed the 'his' sarcastically. "The problem is… When he does, he invites a lot of rich people, like you said. Celebrities, actors, singers, writers, musicians, athletes and millionaires… you name it, he has it. However, beside those people, Italy also likes to invite… _other_ people, coming from all over Europe, the world, even."

Ludwig was standing with his arms folded over his chest, motionless like a statue. "I think I know where this is going…"

"At least a dozen mafia Bosses are invited. Not all come, of course. But the ones that do come bring their second men, their families and their bodyguards. _And_ at least half a dozen of henchmen, available for trade. For you see, Bosses like to have loyal men, but they also like to have some… how could you call it? Variety. The one has skilled snipers, the other has bodyguards as big as bloody bears, the other still has the best gunmen. So at these kind of 'reunions' between Bosses, they bring some of their best henchmen, available for trade, in exchange for others. Like a bunch of children trading cards. 'Oh, I like that card, I'll trade it with this one you don't have, is that okay?'. Bloody bastards, it would almost sound like slave trade, if they weren't paid." Arthur grumbled. He looked up at the Spaniard. "And the point is - for Christ's sake, Carriedo - you're a detective known through all bloody Europe! You too, Beilshmidt! The fame of you both probably reaches beyond the Iron Curtain and I bet even those bloody Soviet commies know about you! Even if the honest, ignorant and kind of isolated citizens of Palermo don't recognize you, that doesn't mean that people at that party won't!"

Antonio's eyes were wide, because he realized the words Arthur had spoken were true. He suddenly felt as if his chest were hollow, somehow. The excitement of the privilege of being invited had disappeared quickly, replaced with cold dread. Being recognised at that party meant certain death.

He swallowed, and then moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue. "What… What do you suggest, then?"

The Brit shook his head. "I honestly don't know. Going into that villa would probably give us enough proof of Vargas' dirty business, but it could turn out to be a death trap and cost you your life. Whereas if you decline the offer, you would lose the trust Vargas has bestowed upon you."

"And we'd be back to square one. With no evidence and with one- actually two Bosses at large." Ludwig finished for the Captain.

"Hah, lose his trust? But apparently he doesn't trust me enough, huh? After the 'Fritz' incident with his twin, I mean." Antonio looked at the German. "I did wonder why he trusted me so easily. Turns out he doesn't. At least not completely." Why, why was he feeling disappointed…?

"…This almost sounds like a test." Ludwig muttered. "To see if you are like… like 'Fritz', and are recognized as a detective, or not. Because he doesn't know you, but is suspicious enough of you." There was a pained tone to his voice.

"That means that if I do pass this test, he'll trust me much more, right?" Antonio smiled faintly, his voice hollow. "So what if… what if I tried my luck and went there anyway? You said it yourself, Captain, there aren't only Bosses and criminals at that party. And the villa is enormous, I could simply blend in with the celebrities. Best case scenario: I wouldn't be recognized, so there wouldn't be chaos and Vargas would trust me more, perhaps giving me the chance to snoop around the house. Worst case scenario: I'd go snooping anyway, and when things would go wrong, I'd escape?" The Spaniard suggested sheepishly.

Ludwig shook his head. He didn't only risk to be recognized by those criminals, maybe some other of those celebrities had read about him somewhere... what if they exclaimed 'Oh, you're that Spanish guy, right? The one that catches criminals?'? But he tried pointing something else out. "I don't think that would work, Antonio. I bet that getting _out_ of the villa is even more difficult than getting _in_. You'd be trapped in mere seconds, with nowhere to go. Remember he… I mean, _they_ have dogs. Can you run faster than a trained guard dog?" he said.

Antonio shook his head, discouraged. Of course not.

An uncomfortable silence fell in the hotel room, the three men all thinking of a way out of the mess.

Ludwig, still motionless as a statue, thought of a way for the Spaniard to decline the offer. What if he told the Mafioso he had fallen ill? Or some other more credible excuse?

Antonio, his shoulders hunched while sitting on the only chair, tried to imagine the party, and the people that would come. He knew one or two infamous European Bosses, and he was sure they'd knew him as well… But maybe if they didn't turn up at the party, he'd be relatively safe, and so he would pass the test and live… right?

The Captain, sitting on the bed, suddenly straightened up, eyes bright. "I just remembered… maybe… just maybe there is a chance you could survive this mess."

Both detective's heads snapped to the Brit, ready to hear the solution.

"…If I remember correctly, Vargas - or at least one of the two - likes masked parties. Almost all of his parties are like that. It works in everyone's favour. It is enjoyable and funny for the celebrities, and it is awfully useful for the Bosses and his henchmen." He said, first muttering, but the tone of his voice slowly rising with excitement. He glanced at the detectives, who apparently didn't get the point. "_Masks_, get it?"

Antonio's eyes brightened up again, a green light sparking in them. "Oh my God, that would be perfect! A mask! But wait a second, that wouldn't make sense, right? If this is a test to see if they recognize me, then why make everyone - me included - wear a mask?" he frowned, unsure.

"He probably has some kind of plan… like those ridiculous costumes parties, where at midnight everyone drops the masks…" Ludwig mused. "Yes, that must be it. You just have to make sure to know when this happens, and get the hell out of there before that."

The Captain butted in. "Besides the masks, Vargas likes noise, and to make his parties spectacular. There will probably be loud music, some magicians and fireworks. I heard he paid a group coming from England, with a singer called like a metal element... I think his name was Mercury or something like that. Anyway, there will be chaos enough, maybe you could be overlooked…" Arthur paused. "…But no matter how you look at it, it's bloody dangerous. Carriedo are you sure-"

"Yes, I am sure. I don't care, I'm ready for the risks. You already asked that at the begin of this job, remember?" Antonio smiled his broadest smile. "I can do it."

Arthur blinked, and then closed his eyes, smiling. "I admire your loyalty and courage, Carriedo. I really do, but… know that those qualities can't protect you from the mafia's wrath. If you're afraid, you can always drop the job. You'd still get part of the money promised for the job, and no one would blame you for backing off to save yourself."

The Spaniard looked at his own feet. "…No one, except my conscience. I won't drop this case, don't worry. We'll catch the Vargas twins, or… or die trying. Right, Ludwig?"

He glanced sideways at the stoic German, who nodded in agreement. "Of course."

Arthur observed the two detectives with an iron will and a spine of steel. He really did admire them, despite his own personal pride getting in the way of that. But deep down, he knew these two men were greater and better than he was. The only thing putting him on higher ground was his grade of a Captain, nothing else.

"…All right then, I guess. You two elaborate a general plan, a plan B and an eventual plan C if you have to. Bloody hell, get even a plan D and E, to be sure you get out of there _alive_. But do not count me in. I'll have my hands full not only with Vargas, but with other Bosses invading this city as well, who knows what they or their thugs could do. They'll probably arrive around this afternoon or tomorrow, so I don't suggest you go walking around this time. Take a cab, if you need to go somewhere. However, Beilschmidt," he turned towards the German. "Could you come this evening at the station, to tell me what you are planning? Just so I know."

Ludwig nodded gravely. "Of course. Oh, and I think I should change hotel. It could look suspicious, but I guess it is even more suspicious if 'Fritz' stays at the same hotel with another person trying to befriend Vargas…" he explained.

"You are absolutely right, I'll arrange something. Actually, to be completely safe, you should sleep at my house, if you don't mind. Unless you'd like to sleep at Delisi's place, but I don't think he has enough space… Speaking of him, you could collaborate with him about the whole 'party' problem. Sounds good?" Arthur said, hands on his knees, ready to stand up from the bed.

The detectives nodded, and Antonio suddenly had an idea. "Hey, what if I snuck a listening device into the house?"

Arthur's eyes widened with worry. "Absolutely not! Don't even try it! Before entering you will be searched thoroughly by Vargas's men, for safety measures, you know. If they found any of that stuff on you… You'd be dead before even entering the household. Also, I trust you have a gun; _don't_ bring it. But… the listening devices affair is a good idea nonetheless. As a matter of fact, I ordered a special kind of them, but they won't be delivered until Monday or even Tuesday… we'll reconsider that aspect once you survive _this_ week, Carriedo."

Antonio quickly nodded, and the Captain stood up. "Well. I'll be on my way then. Have a nice day, you two. Beilschmidt, I trust I'll see you this evening?"

The German nodded. That being said, the Brit left.

Ludwig inhaled deeply, closing the door. "What a mess, Antonio."

"No kidding." The Spaniard sighed, a small smile on his lips. Though even Ludwig could see it was forced. "…No kidding."

* * *

"…So, last but not least, when you get there, please don't try to attract attention." Ludwig added at the end of a long afternoon of planning. Antonio's notebook was on the small table of the Spaniard's room - the one without a window, just in case - pages filled with scribbles, lists, arrows and drawings. Ludwig had taken a cab and taken pictures of the infamous Villa Dante with his modern camera, and the small photographs were also scattered randomly on the table.

"What is this Dante anyway? A place?" Antonio had asked, pointing at the picture that showed the entrance gate with the villa's name on it. Ludwig had glared at him and had started explaining medieval Italian literature to him. Antonio envied the German a little, at moments like that, he had to admit. You could see from miles away that Ludwig had studied, and with studied he meant _really_ studied. At school, lyceum and university. Antonio regretted never having a chance like that. He felt so barbaric and ignorant whenever something like this happened.

But that didn't matter right now.

"Don't attract attention…?" Antonio asked, clueless.

Ludwig sighed, one hand going for his left temple. "For example, don't knock the punch bowl over on some expensive dress of some opera singer. That's the least you could do. Ergo, keep a low profile."

"Oh, that's what you mean! Of course." The Spaniard exclaimed, before nodding gravely.

Ludwig sighed again, albeit more deeply. He would be lucky if he didn't have white hair by the end of the week because of the stress. And he wasn't even the one going into the belly of the beast! Antonio seemed so… relaxed. He felt like scolding him to take things more seriously, but he knew that the Spaniard probably was already doing that. While maintaining a relaxed appearance. He envied that ability of Antonio. Keeping calm even if his own life was on the line, depending on sheer good luck. That wasn't anything for him, he knew that. He liked to evaluate every action so he could predict any reaction. If there were possibilities of something unexpected happening, he would calculate those also. Of course, something he could never predict could always happen, but it wasn't easy for that to occur. He liked to have everything under his direct control. Not this suicide thing Antonio was doing: walking on a thin rope, threatening to fall every second in relation to the wind's strength and direction, as if it were a game. And that was just the thing, Antonio could pass the rope without batting so much of an eyelash because of the lack of a breeze, or he could be knocked over by a hurricane. Or fall by himself because he tripped.

Ludwig closed his eyes. "All right." he stood up, chair protesting loudly against the floor. He glanced at his watch, almost eight, the sun would set in an hour or so. "I'll gather my things then, and head to the Captain's home. I'll call tomorrow morning to inform you if Delisi agrees, okay?"

The Spaniard nodded. "Sure! I'll go eat something, then. Is it aright for me to leave before you? Though I sure hope you don't have to eat at Kirkland's house… Brits aren't known for their fine cooking, you know. I suggest you eat something first so you have an excuse!" he laughed.

Ludwig facepalmed, and Antonio left, grabbing his jacket and hat – the latter particularly useful to cover his features a little, in the unlucky event of crossing roads with a foreign Boss arrived early.

As the Spaniard was walking down the street, he felt as if he had forgotten something…

"Ah! I totally forgot to tell him about the twin crying!" He whispered to himself, bringing a hand to his forehead. Oh well, he would tell him in the morning. Now the only thing he could think about was food. And if he had to die the next day… he wanted to have a memorable dinner. He greedily licked his lips when he noticed a restaurant that offered first-class _arancini_, and without a doubt he entered.

* * *

When he returned to the hotel, he had the distinct feeling of being followed. Yet, he did not do anything about it. He casually turned around feigning to admire the buildings, but noticed a black Rolls Royce not too far away. Vargas was obviously keeping an eye on him. Despite the circumstances, Antonio smiled as he continued walking. Oh, he wouldn't find anything suspicious on _this _Spanish tourist!

He wasn't surprised when he saw Ludwig's key hanging behind the reception counter. He only hoped the German didn't have to eat awful British food. The Captain could very well try to cook but… he snickered, Kirkland was still _British_, and everyone knew that the Fairy of Good Tasting Food had cursed that country since the dawn of time.

He showered and prepared himself for the night. Before sitting on his bed, he threw a glance over to the table covered with photographs and pages filled with scribbles and drawings.

Tomorrow was a crucial day.

_Lives _depended on his success. And not only his. If he failed, the mafia would cause even more victims. More bodies would litter the city harbour's waters, and the crimes would continue.

He weakly chuckled to himself as he sat down on the mattress. Noooooo, he didn't feel _any_ pressure _at all_.

Still, he was surprised to see his right hand shaking. He firmly grabbed the wrist with the other hand, immobilizing it.

"Hey now, you're surely not going to let me down _now_, of all times, right?" He whispered to himself. The hand stopped shaking, and he released the hold. He sighed, shoulders hunching.

He should have called Francis. Maybe he still could. It could be the last time he could hear him. Just to hear a familiar voice, to reminiscent of old times and laugh at the Frenchman's love adventures… He glanced at his watch, almost ten in the evening, Saturday night. He would have his hands full, there would be a hell lot of people in his restaurant, he probably had other things to worry about…

Yet, before he could stop himself, he had already picked up the phone on his dresser. It would cost a fortune, but he couldn't care less. And besides, he could afford it.

"_Oui? Bon soir, Restaurant Jeanne d'Arc, can I help you?_" A polite female voice answered the phone. Antonio could hear many people chatting and laughing on the background, as well as the tinkle of glasses, cutlery and plates.

"Oh, hello!" He chirped. "Yes, please, I just wanted to talk to Francis, if he happened to be available? Tell him it's Antonio," He added.

"_I'm sorry,monsieur Bonnefoy is very busy at the moment, I don't think-"_ the girl tried to object, but was interrupted by a voice Antonio knew well.

"_Cosette, who's that on the phone?_"

"_A monsieur called Antonio asks to speak with you, monsieur Bonnefoy…_" the girl hesitated.

"_Quoi!? Hurry Cosette, hand over the phone! Oh and please take this to the kitchens! Thank you!_"

Antonio couldn't help but smile when he heard his friend's voice on the other line. "Hey, long time no see, _amigo_."

"_Toni! Mon ami, it's been months since I last heard of you! How are you? Also, where in the heavens are you? The police back in Spain couldn't tell me where you had disappeared to!_" Francis exclaimed, surprised.

"I'm good, thank you! I'm in Italy at the moment, for a job… And yes, it's been too long, because since when do people call you 'monsiuuu Bonnefoy'?" He teased, badly mimicking a French accent.

"_Ah, shut up, you know I hate that. Cosette just started working yesterday, she still doesn't know how things work here._" the other answered, chuckling. Antonio could almost picture him in his mind: smiling, dressed in the most elegant black clothes, sitting on a red and gold cushion of an elaborately carved wooden chair set beside the telephone, twisting the chord of said phone between his white gloved fingers.

"And she still doesn't know what kind of man you are, too, right?" Antonio teased again.

"_Hahahah, you are right! But no, Cosette already has a man, I wouldn't do such a thing._"

"Stop lying, I know you would." Antonio laughed as Francis exclaimed, feigning horror, "_Of course not!_"

They paused for a moment. Antonio could still hear the noises of the restaurant in the background, though they were a little muffled, now.

"…_Hey Toni, did you receive my package?_" Francis asked after a good minute of silence.

"Yes, of course! Thank you very much, best birthday present, honest." The Spaniard answered truthfully, glancing at the MAB PA-15 still in his holster, hanging with a strap to the only chair of his room. "It must have cost a fortune."

"_You bet! It's a brand new model! So be thankful. I know you never liked guns, but you have to defend yourself. Certainly with the kind of job you do._" The Frenchman was suddenly serious, his voice had dropped at least a tone.

Antonio nodded, without realizing that obviously the other would not be able to see. He quickly answered as soon as he did. "Ah! Yes, of course. I know."

Francis seemed to sense the mood, and changed argument. "_Hey, do you remember that time, in Holland?_"

The Spaniard couldn't help but chuckle at the memory. "How could I forget, francypants? You chased girls left and right, choked on Dutch clams, drunk yourself silly with their beer and then were chased by the girls' angry husbands and boyfriends! Hahaha!"

"_Urgh, those clams… they really were horrible. But you forget that one girl's brother…_"

"You mean the one with the scarf and pipe?" he vaguely remembered the guy. Tall, with one of the deadliest glares he had ever seen. He hadn't looked too happy at Francis's advances directed to the girl.

Antonio heard Francis snicker. "_Exactly. Mon Dieu, those were the most terrifying fifteen minutes of my life._"

"Teaches you right for flirting with his sister, I guess!" The Spaniard laughed.

"_Lies! …Okay, maybe I deserved it, but remember that he cut half my hair off!_" Francis exclaimed accusingly.

"…And beat you to a pulp." Antonio added, smiling at the memory.

"_That is irrelevant! Do you even know how hard it is to keep my hair like this?! It's unforgivable, it took months to make it look acceptable again! If I ever see him again I will break that damned pipe of his, I swear._" Antonio could almost imagine him pouting.

"I'm surely not going to help you with that, you know?"

"_Well, it's not as if you helped me back then either. You were laughing, remember? You traitor._" Francis tried to sound offended, but kind of failed.

Antonio defended himself. "Hey, I couldn't help it! I was drunk too, I honestly swear that the scene looked incredibly funny."

They both burst out laughing and continued ten minutes like that, talking about their past adventures during their odyssey through Europe.

"_Good times, Antonio. Good times._" Francis chuckled, probably drying a tear.

"Better than the ones before them, anyway." Antonio added without thinking. And he immediately regretted it. Eyes wide, he clapped a hand over his mouth.

After a brief moment of silence, Francis spoke again. "_Antonio…_"

Antonio sighed, covering his face with a hand and cursing himself for his stupidity. "Sorry… I-I wasn't thinking, forget what I said, okay?"

Francis spoke the next words softly. "_It's not a problem. It has almost been eight years, you ought to forget that. I did._"

Antonio tried to protest. "Yes, but I-"

"_Stop right there Antonio. Don't you even try to apologize. What happened were the consequences of my choices, not yours. There's nothing more to say._" The Frenchman interrupted him.

Antonio remained silent, looking at his knees.

"_Now would you look at that, after all this time, you still feel guilty?! Get a hold of yourself!_" Francis scolded him, trying to lighten the mood, but also sounding serious. "_I mean, look at us! We are both doing the jobs we always dreamed of! Me, a proud owner of a successful restaurant, and you, one of the most famous detectives in Europe!_"

"_Ay_, I'm sorry francypants." Antonio shook his head. "You're right."  
"_You bet I am. Now stop pitying yourself and be a man, okay? And stop beating around the bush, hm? I know that this wasn't just a call to hear me rambling about what happened in Holland._"

The Spaniard smiled faintly. Francis could read him like an open book. "Whoops, you caught me…!"

"_I know that if you are worried, something's big is happening. But whatever bastard you are hunting down right now, however big and mean he can be, don't let him intimidate you! Men like that are like animals, and animals can smell fear and weakness. You are not weak, Toni. You are the boss, not them!_" Francis's volume kept raising with every sentence, reassuring the Spaniard.

Without noticing, Antonio sat up a little straighter. "…You're right… You're right!" he exclaimed, puffing his chest out proudly and grinning. "_Iam_ the boss!"

He could hear Francis chuckle on the other line. "_Aha, that's more like it. Now get out there and show them what you've got. Oh, sadly, cute Cosette is waving her arms around to get my attention, I think I am needed somewhere…_" he said absentmindedly.

Antonio closed his eyes, so thankful for the Frenchman. "Hey Francis."

"_Oui?_"

"…_Gracias._" The Spaniard whispered.

"_No problem. We're buddies, it's only natural. Just remember this, okay? And whenever you don't, just call me so I can scold you and put you back in line again, hm?_" Francis murmured smiling.

"Sure."

"_Okay. I really have to go now, Cosette is practically jumping up and down, it seems urgent. Adieu, Toni!_"

"Goodbye, Francis." That being said, he put down the phone, his chest feeling significantly lighter. As if a weight had been removed from his shoulders and heart.

God almighty, he was _Antonio Fernandez Carriedo_, not some random thirteen-year old boy walking around with a magnifying glass. At least not anymore. He wouldn't be stopped by a couple of twin mafia Bosses having a party. Oh no. Far from that. He wouldn't die tomorrow. No, his fateful day was still far, far away.

With renewed energy and trust in himself, he fell asleep smiling.

* * *

**Yea, you go Toni! And Francis is such a good friend, ****_non?_**

**I actually wanted this chapter to already have the party, but… yeah. It will definitely be in the next chapter, don't worry! 0w0**

**Hoping you are all faring good, I'll see you next chapter! Ciaooo! **

**(PS, historical note under here... it is pretty damn important, please read it! I did actual research for it, and even read a book about it all! Please don't let my effort be in vain XD I translated a lot of the terms from Italian, so I am not sure if they are called like that in English at all... if I derped up anything, please tell me! XD)**

**...**

_**Arancini : **__Typical Sicilian dish. Arancini are fried rice balls covered in breadcrumbs, filled with ragù, tomato sauce, mozzarella and/or peas (but the fillings can differ). The name derives from the shape and colour of this food, which resembles oranges, 'Arance'._

_**Bon soir : **__(french) Good evening. _

_**Monsieur : **__(french) Mister._

_**Quoi?! : **__(french) What?!_

_**Amigo : **__(spanish) Friend._

_**Mon ami : **__(french) My friend._

_**Mon Dieu : **__(french) My God._

_**Gracias : **__(spanish) Thank you._

_**Adieu : **__(french) Bye._

* * *

_**THE '68 EVENT - 1968**_

"**At the end of 1967, the Catholic University of Milan and the 'Palazzo Campana' in Turin are occupied by Italian students on the wave of a 'mental revolution'. But only with violence – policemen, overturned trucks, fire and stones, arrests and wounded – the **_**'68 Event**_** came to the attention of the media.**

**1****st**** of March, Italy****: The students' rebellion arrives for the first time on the newspapers and TVs, the 'mental revolution' having spread to the capital, Rome itself.**

**15****th**** of April, Germany****: Almost the same images appear on German televisions, with violent riots in Berlin, after the failed attempt to kill one of the leaders of the German Students' Movement. **

**2****nd**** of May, France****: It is Paris's turn: the academic authorities close down the University of Nanterre as reaction to protests coming from the students. It's the beginning of the 'French May', the very core of the **_**'68 Event**_**: Sorbonne in the hands of the students, the Latin Neighbourhood set aflame, barricades on the Boulevard Saint-Michel, the intellectuals walking arm in arm together with the workers, the students, the musicians, the taxi and train drivers… everyone on general strike. And all in one month. **

**In the meantime, ****on the other side of the Iron Curtain****, the 'Spring of Prague' has begun, and it has started the process of the Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia. **

**20****th**** of August, Czechoslovakia****: Soviet tanks enter Prague's main plaza, and images of the student Jan Palach committing suicide by self-immolation as a political protest against the Soviet dictatorship go all around the world.**

**August, Mexico****: Almost at the same time, overseas, in Mexico – where they were readying another global event, the Olympics - other revolts start, after a massacre of students shot from helicopters while protesting in a plaza. Then, the unexpected epilogue: two black American athletes - on the podium for the first and third place at the Olympics - raise their fist in the salute of the Black Power. This is the long wave of the explosion after Martin Luther King's assassination on the 4****th**** of April: on the 5****th**** of April, USA, the black communities of 110 American cities rioted, ghettos were set aflame, 39 died, 2500 were wounded, 5000 were arrested.**

**Japan and China****: In the other hemisphere of the globe starts the insurrection of the Japanese Zengakuren (Student federation of Home Rule), sieging American bases. Also the Chinese cultural revolution starts, with Mao Tze-Tung convincing the Chinese of leading a 'revolution inside the revolution', in which blew the same wind that blew at Rome, Paris, or Prague.**

**On top of it all, there was the ****Vietnam War****: the 'black hole' of the West world, symbol of its moral fall. And together with it, the revelation of its weakness on the thing it thought it excelled at: the strength, the technological and military power. From the beginning in January, the war will be in every home around the world: images of destruction, torture and death enter people's lives through televisions on a daily basis.**

**But what was the **_**'68 Event**_**, in the end?**

**The **_**'68 Event**_** was the firs explicit example of globalisation; the historical beginning of that process and phenomenon which in the 90's will appear in its completeness; in other words, 'globally'. It is revealed by the succession of the events, by their extraordinary synchronization and the incredible tendency of 'devouring space', coming from that magma-like event, without any centre of direction or organized structures: simple circulation on a world-wide scale of the rebellions' explosions (bouncing from one nation on to the other, without any kind of restraint). **

**There were two 'world-wide' revolutions: one was in 1848, the other in 1968. Both failed. Both changed the world. ****"**

**[Source: **_**Novecento italiano – **_**The Italian 1900's]**


	14. A Hell of a Party

**Ciao everybody! How are you all?**

**Holy flying pasta this chapter is WAY TOO LONG! I am so sorry! D8 I _hate_ long chapters, but I couldn't do it any other way, I hope this doesn't bother you! ;_;**

**Hey, in the previous chapter some people thought that the man with the scarf and the pipe that was mentioned beating up Francis (and ruining his_ fabulous_ hair) was Russia... But NEIN, it was Netherlands! (The pipe was a simple smoking pipe, not the infamous Russian faucet pipe... And the sister Francis flirted with was Belgium, lol) sorry for the confusion...!**

**Argh, this chapter is wayyyy to intense as well. But I hope you'll enjoy it anyway :3**

**Please sit back, und ENJOY. **

* * *

The next day he was awfully calm and nervous at the same time, it was actually kind of creepy. He didn't know how to explain it, he just… His muscles were tense, he caught his fingers twitching one or two times as well as his shoulders, but inside, he felt calm. Just like the string of a violin, stretched out to the extreme, immobile but ready to tremble and produce its music.

It was the calm before the storm.

He had breakfast at a café, and then walked back to the hotel as fast as he could. He had thought he had seen a familiar face, but maybe he was just being paranoid.

Antonio rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. This was going to be a long day. He rehearsed the eventual escape plans he had organized with Ludwig so many times he lost count of them. Sadly enough, he hadn't thought of bringing a book, unlike the German, so he had to find another way to spend the time.

He received a call from Ludwig somewhere around noon: Delisi was available for cooperation, which meant he had another ally and another possible escape route.

"I will be patrolling a large perimeter of the villa with Arthur and his men, who need to keep an eye on general things. But I will be around the agreed place to eventually help you, okay?" The German said. "Oh, also, me and Kirkland left something for you at the reception counter, just ask the lady. It will be useful, trust me."

The Spaniard thanked him, and then hung up. He wondered what Ludwig might have left him. Five minutes later he was down at the reception, the lady turning to look for the 'something'. This 'something' then revealed itself to be a small brown paper bag, smaller than Antonio's palm. The Spaniard returned to his room, and consumed by curiosity, opened the tiny package.

He upturned the bag and something small fell in his hand. A green pill.

Antonio blinked. What in the heavens?!

Inside the package there was a folded paper note, and he quickly read it.

"_Carriedo, this might be helpful for you to at the party. If Beilschmidt's intuition is correct, there will be a precise moment during the party in which you'll have to drop your mask. These kind of pills guarantee that you can avoid that fateful moment. Don't ask me what's in them, but if you ingest one precisely ten minutes before the general mask drop, it will make you sick enough to make you run to the nearest bathroom, giving you a valid excuse of not being there. Be careful, and good luck."_

Antonio's wide eyes darted from Kirkland's note to the pill rolling innocently in his palm. He smiled. His chances of surviving this Sunday were steadily increasing by the hour! He ate the note - who knew who might find it in the garbage, and after all, he didn't have any lighter and it tasted good - and put the pill in his wallet, being sure to get out any ID that might incriminate him.

He then lazily looked around his room. What else could he do to pass the time? He glanced at Francis's birthday present hanging on the chair.

He carefully removed all the photographs from the table as well as the map and the random sheets of paper. He sat down on the chair, grabbed the MAB PA-15 and proceeded to take it apart. He cleaned every single piece as slowly and carefully as he could. Yet, after barely more than an hour, he had already finished, the gun was whole again and gleaming in the lamp light - he still had the room without the window.

He sighed, glancing at his watch. Barely past one.

"_Damnaciòn._"

He ordered a pizza to be delivered, he honestly didn't dare to set foot outside the hotel anymore. What if he knew somebody out there? What if _they_ knew _him_?

He slapped his cheeks, squashing them until he looked like some kind of bizarre fish, glaring at the hot pizza on the table.

_He_ was the boss. He would survive this evening, that was certain. But he had to be sure to even survive until _that_. He didn't need some random foreign Boss recognizing him and blowing the whole operation.

The general nervousness caused him to have more appetite, and in barely five minutes the pizza was gone already.

He glanced at his watch again, and groaned, closing his eyes. Half past two.

"Come on, Toni. Just another seven hours and thirty minutes to go. You can do it." He groaned again.

Boredom would probably kill him before anyone at that party got a chance.

* * *

…_Villa Dante…_

"Wow, look at all this stuff! This party is going to be great!" one figure said, spinning on his feet while looking around the big hall.

"Shut up, dimwit. And be careful! You don't need a cane anymore but you still shouldn't walk so carelessly. And by the way, you definitely aren't going to flirt with girls tonight." A second figure grumbled, seated at a table.

"…Whaaaat? Oh wait, is it your turn again?" The first asked.

The other sighed, placing his fingertips to his temple. "No, moron. But business is coming, I would never let you do it."

"…Business? Ve… who's coming, then?"

"Well, for example, Yao, Braginski, Khøler…."

"W-what!?"

"Exactly. Anyway, as always, we'll trade henchmen."

"You think I can't handle it, don't you?" The first figure pouted.

"It's not that I think it, you _can't_ handle it, moron. You just trust people too easily, you'd be tricked in no time by those bastards. You've been tricked before, I'll do it."

"Oh… okay…" the first figure paused. "Hey… do you think… do you think _he_'ll be out there? With the Captain?"

The second growled. "Of course he will. What would you expect? He's a detective. Lying sneaky bastards, the lot of them."

The first figure let his head hang. "But…"

The other interrupted him. "Stop right there. He was just paid to do what he did, he lied from the very start. Don't even _try_ to think he was honest with you, _this_ is what happens when you trust people too easily! He was the first one, but he won't be the last to try such low tricks. Be happy I discovered him before he could cause any more harm."

"…I guess…" the first murmured.

The second seemed to think he had been to harsh. "Hey, don't make that face. I hate to see you moping around like this. This party is for you, idiot, for your recovery! So stop sulking. I know you love parties." He stood up.

"Yes, I do," The first admitted, a smile slowly returning to his features. "And you got even fireworks this time! It will be so beautiful!"

"That's more like it. Now, here are the masks. These are for our men." The second smirked, and pointed towards the many boxes scattered around them. One was already open, revealing its contents: it was full of white masks. "Pick one so-"

"…So I can blend in with them. Don't worry, I know everything already!" The first chirped, picking a mask from the box. "Aww, look, he's smiling." He said, turning the mask in his fingers. He then brought it up, so that from his point of view it would seem like the other figure was wearing it. "…You should smile more, _fratello_."

The other didn't reply, and simply turned his head away. "Stop being fucking ridiculous. I need to get going, I have to call the men and set things up, keep an eye on things…"

"No, let me do that! You rest, you'll have a busy evening. When will the first guests arrive?" The first figure hurried over to the other.

"Around eight…"  
The first figure smiled, steering the other towards a door. "So plenty of time to rest, it's barely two o'clock. Sleep, okay? Don't worry, I'll handle it! I love parties, but it is even more fun to set them up!" he chirped.

The second figure remained silent, standing in front of a door, fingertips hovering over the doorknob. Then, he sighed, grabbing the handle and opening the door. "Okay. But don't screw up, got it dumbass?"

"I won't!" The first said, walking back towards the centre of the hall with a small bounce in his steps.  
The second figure shook his head smiling a little, entered the hallway and closed the door behind him. He walked down the corridor, went up many flights of stairs, passed through other corridors, until after many passages he finally arrived at his room.

He closed his eyes while plopping down on his soft bed. He let out a deep sigh. Yes, his brother trusted people too easily. He bared his teeth, scowling. He had trusted _Ludwig fucking Beilschmidt_, of all people! A detective, and one of the best, for fuck's sake! And _of course_, since his brother's mind was too simple and naive, he couldn't understand that what the potato-munching bastard had done had been simply required from his job.

He kicked off his shoes, and laid himself down completely dressed. He frowned, staring at the ceiling.

That was why he didn't trust this Antonio guy. Not completely, at least. Yet he seemed stupid enough to go and consider a mafia Boss his _amigo_. It could have all been a coincidence…

A humourless chuckle escaped his lips. Yeah, right.

Yet, somewhere in his chest, a jab of guilt struck him. He gritted his teeth and cursed that part of himself that needed someone else in his life besides his brother. Because deep inside, he hoped with all his might that Antonio wasn't _one of them_.

He closed his eyes, tiredness washing over him, as he slowly drifted towards dreamland.

…It would all be revealed tonight.

* * *

Antonio fiddled with the sleeves of his shirt when the cab neared the heavy iron gates. A man as big as a bear stood before it, feet apart, hands behind his back. The cab stopped a meter or so from him, the man took a list from inside his jacket and neared the vehicle. Antonio opened the window.

"Name?" The gorilla grunted, bowing down to his level.

"Antonio Chavez Saucedo…" Antonio answered, feeling his insides as if he had just eaten barbed wire.

The man scanned the list, and then nodded curtly, taking out a pen and ticking the name. He straightened up again and called somebody on the other side of the gate. "He's on the list, open up!"

The iron gate creaked heavily when it was opened, and the cab quickly sped through. His eyes widened. On the map it had been evident that Villa Dante was big, but…

…This was ridiculously _huge_.

An enormous park surrounded the building, with many old-looking trees. The household itself had the form of a hoof: a main thick building, flanked by two 'smaller' wings, which enclosed a gigantic porch between them. A swimming pool looking bigger than the ones used at the Olympic games was positioned near the porch, white lights illuminating the water from the bottom and bathing the building's walls in strange moving light patterns. Elegant white columns supported the first story of the villa, the white arches between them decorated with coloured lights. Music could be heard coming from inside, the walls only barely managing to muffle the sound. There was an ice sculpture three metres tall and shaped like a polar bear not too far away from the pool. A magician was doing fire tricks, breathing fire and changing the colours of the flames by snapping his fingers. Masked people in colourful clothes were continuously walking in and out of the large wooden doors, many with full glasses in their hands, talking and laughing. Scattered in the section of the park around the pool were many flaming torches, and little coloured lights hung on every tree branch of that area, so many other people were also just taking a stroll there.

Antonio's mouth formed a mute 'Oh,' as he took all these particulars in. And new hope blossomed in his chest. There was so much chaos, it would actually be more difficult to _be_ noticed! He smiled.

The car came to a halt, and a man in a dark suit opened up the vehicle's door for him. Antonio stepped out of the car, smiled and was about to thank the man when he nearly had a heart attack.  
He was wearing a smiling white mask that completely covered his face.  
It wasn't an ugly mask, actually it was very well-made, realistic and not especially scary, but Antonio hadn't been expecting that.

"_Signore, la prego di seguirmi._" He said in Italian, his voice a little muffled by the mask.

Antonio nodded and followed the masked man. He was led to a pretty normal-looking door, and he noticed he wasn't the only one. A couple had just exited a limousine and was being led to the door as well, the woman giggling softly.

He entered before the couple, though, and he found himself in a small room, with a man and a woman, both wearing the same white mask.

"Please empty your pockets, mister." The man politely said, gesturing for the table to Antonio's left. The masked woman told the couple the same, at the right hand of the room.

The only thing Antonio had in his pockets was his wallet. After having put that on the table, he was thoroughly searched by the man, and obviously he didn't find anything. The wallet was searched as well, but they couldn't find anything there as well: the pill was safely hidden under Antonio's tongue, the Spaniard being very careful not to accidentally swallow it.

"Sorry for the inconvenience… beyond that door you can change yourself." The man pointed with a thumb at the door behind him.

Antonio took his wallet again and opened the door, and yet again his jaw dropped.

It was probably every woman's dream. An enormous brightly lit room, filled with dresses upon dresses, masks, feather boas, tiaras, crowns, random accessories all separated by colour and size. Of course men had not been forgotten: jackets, suits, masks, hats, capes, ties, shirts… There was everything for both sexes, but the most astounding feature was the number of the masks: hundreds of them, in every size, every colour, every form and variety. Antonio couldn't believe his eyes. It could have looked like a horrible cheap yard sale, if it weren't for the fact that everything looked so neat and _expensive_. It actually almost seemed as if he had walked into a first-class, five-stars dress shop. He could hear some women squeal in excitement between the colourful clothes, and a man emitting a low whistle while examining a wonderful dark blue suit.

"Mister Saucedo? A gift form mister Vargas." Another White Mask tapped his shoulder, offering him a beautiful dark grey - almost black - suit, together with a white shirt, a deep green tie and black shiny shoes.

The Spaniard's eyes widened even more, if that was even possible. "F-for me…?" He asked, stunned. He felt as if he had gone back in time, _way_ back, when he was little and couldn't even afford to buy an _apple_ for himself…

The White Mask nodded, and stretched out his arms to hand him the clothes over, a movement that brought the Spaniard back to the present. Antonio was almost afraid to touch them, they simply looked so incredibly _expensive_, like everything else in that room. He barely registered that the tie was made of real silk, before the White Mask offered him another object. A dark grey mask that perfectly matched with the suit, shaped so it would cover his eyebrows, eyes, cheekbones and nose. The holes for the eyes were rimmed with black, and small black decorative lines swirled on the edges of the mask. A single, small, deep green line that matched the tie decorated the lower left half of the mask.

Still too astonished to speak, Antonio followed the White Mask's directions towards the changing rooms and changed. He then studied himself in the mirror, mask in his left hand.

He looked like a noble.

Antonio barely recognized himself, he was so used to seeing himself wearing quite worn-out and kind of old clothes, because he never picked up the habit of shopping for new ones, even after he could afford them. He unbelievingly turned left and right, as if to check that the man in the mirror was really him.

Finally, he glanced at the mask between his fingers. He placed onto his face, bowed his head and tied the black silk lint behind it. When he glanced at his reflection again, a stranger was looking back at him.

Antonio smiled, and so did the stranger in the mirror.

He would actually dare even Francis to recognize him like this, now.

* * *

Another White Mask led him to the door that went to the party. Antonio knew that because he could hear the muffled music and the people chatting on the other side.

"_Le auguriamo una buona serata._" The White Mask said, opening the door for him.

Immediately, Antonio was immersed in a dazzling whirlpool of colours. He found himself in a gigantic circular hall with a high ceiling which ended in a dome. Everything bas bathed in a blue light, but many torches and lamps contributed by adding other colours: pink, green, orange… And even _the balloons_ that hung scattered here and there and against the walls had lights in them.

In the middle of the room there was a large stage on which a band was playing highly rhythmic songs, and the singer had a weird moustache… he guessed this was the man Kirkland had talked about, his name was Mercury, if he remembered right. Well, he had to admit, he had a great voice.

Around the stage there was plenty of space, where people were dancing, laughing or simply strolling around with bounces in their steps. Almost all of them had champagne glasses in their hands, all were masked, all were having a good time.

Around the empty space for the dancers, there were many small tables with chairs, all with a strange lamp on them. Antonio got closer to inspect them, and saw that they were those things that looked like rockets, with some kind of coloured fluid blobbing lazily up and down. Against the walls were long tables filled with food: bowls of punch and fruit, small meat treats, cheese, pies, sandwiches, arancini, cannoli, plates with fruit sculptures, wine, beer, champagne, cocktails…

He was amazed. Never in his life had he seen such a thing. And he also realized that all the people around him had to be famous people.

He saw a tall black man not too far away, with a white and orange mask covering only the right half of his face. One glance at his shoulders and arms told Antonio that he probably was a boxer. Another man with tiny round glasses over his lilac mask, smoking a pipe, told him he most probably was a writer, or a poet… A girl with long blonde hair in a red dress, wearing a feathered red mask, walked past him laughing; she probably was an actress, or a singer.

He started walking around to get a good look at the place. From that hall he could reach the garden outside, where the pool was. Even here there were many tables with those rocket-like lights, and people enjoyed themselves around the pool.

Suddenly, two men shoved a third into the pool, and everyone burst out laughing when he resurfaced and pulled the two culprits down as well.

Antonio, despite himself and the situation, suddenly felt at ease. He wasn't in danger, who would ever spot him in this chaos, this hurricane of colours? He quickly brought a hand to his mouth and took out the pill, stuffing it in a broken seam of his wallet, which disappeared in his pocket. He smiled, looking around.

However, he was sitting at a table enjoying a glass of offered champagne, when he noticed something strange. A company of four men dressed in grey suits were walking to go inside the hall. They all had a coloured mask, probably to blend in, but it didn't look as if they were enjoying themselves too much. Well, he could see two smiling, but he didn't see the carefree movements and abandon that everyone seemed to have there.

And then, he noticed something that made his heart skip a beat. One of the grey-clad men, half of his features covered by a dark blue mask, decorated with a small crimson ribbon, had turned towards his direction. However, probably only to look at the impressive bear ice sculpture behind the Spaniard. The man made a motion with his hands which mimicked an explosion, probably imagining the icy sculpture bursting into many, tiny little pieces. The man grinned to himself, satisfied of the mental image, and turned away again, following the other men dressed in grey.

Antonio's eyes widened. It couldn't be… He stood up brusquely, almost pushing over the chair, determined to follow the man.

He had to make sure he wasn't seeing things. The last time he had seen him had been years ago, maybe he was just wrong, and he just _couldn't _be here… Then again, it was almost impossible to mistake him for another, even with that mask.

He quickly headed towards the men in grey, who were almost at the entrance of the hall already. He swiftly walked between the dancing people, determined to catch up with them, until his road was crossed by a – he almost didn't believe his eyes – a conga line. It was a long line of dancers, and painfully slow as well. With many excuses he passed between two conga'ers, breaking said conga and earning a few irritated shouts like 'Hey!' or 'What the hell?!'. When he looked at the entrance of the hall again, the men were already inside.

_Oh damn it…!_ Antonio craned his neck, trying to pass through the partying people. Why did all them have to be in his way _now_, of all times?!

Nothing, when he finally got into the hall, they were nowhere to be seen between the crowd of dancers. He hunched his shoulders, discouraged.

…Had it been a dream? …He couldn't be here, right? Was it a ghost, or had he imagined it all by himself?

A hand on his shoulder shook him out of his thoughts, and he turned around to look who it was.

A man with a dark suit stood by him, with a blood-red shirt and a black tie. On his face he wore a dark red mask lined with black swirls and decorations.

Antonio barely managed to swallow. Because he recognised him.

Italy Vargas smirked a wolf-like smile at him. "Why fucking hello there, bastard. You're _late!_"

Antonio recomposed himself quickly, smiling broadly. "_¡__Hola, amigo!_ Couldn't find you, sorry! You look better!" He said, noticing the Italian didn't have the cane anymore.

"Well, a bit better. At least I don't need the fucking stick anymore." Italy shrugged.

"Good!" Antonio continued smiling, moving a hand to point at their surroundings. "And I must say, this is a wonderful party!" he added honestly.

"Heh, what did you expect? A hippy playing a guitar and a cheap bottle of wine? _Please._" The Boss snorted.

The Spaniard laughed at the image, contrasting so hard with the party he was standing in the middle of at the moment. "Oh, of course not! But… I haven't been to many parties, I honestly didn't know what to expect…!"

"Moron. By the way, do you like the suit? Not that I really care, of course." Vargas quickly added, as if convincing himself.

Antonio smiled softly, the feeling of danger kind of fading onto the background. "Yes, it is a wonderful suit… it must have cost a fortune!" He said, delicately grabbing the green tie with his fingers and looking at it.

Italy shrugged, unimpressed, and then pointed towards outside. "Whatever. Want to go outside? I need some fresh air."

The Spaniard nodded, and in no time they were walking not too far away from the pool, following a small beaten path through the park, lit by torches. There were less people here - which still meant _crowded_, by the way. Yet Antonio could see still some White Masks not too far away, keeping an eye on them… He swallowed dryly.

"Hey bastard, I was wondering, what kind of job do you do?" Vargas suddenly asked, absentmindedly and 'innocently' looking away.

"Eh, I work for a telecommunications company, nothing too exciting, I'm afraid…" Antonio used his usual alibi. He let out an awkward chuckle. "…But it allows me to travel a lot! Hahaha, but I'm on vacation now, don't worry, I won't ask you to install a TV or a telephone…!" He laughed.

"Tch, figures."

"What?" Antonio snapped his head sideways to look at the Italian.

"Someone like you couldn't be doing some job that required brains. You simply don't have them." Vargas snorted, kind of looking amused. And was Antonio imagining things or did he sound… relieved?

"Hey! You're being mean!" Antonio exclaimed playfully.

Italy simply shook his head. "Exactly my point. Dumbass."

The Spaniard pouted, folding his arms. "What about you, then? If you're so _smart_." He teased.

The Mafioso made a vague gesture with one hand, looking bored. "Nothing much, really. I'm simply rich, thanks to my grandfather's inheritance."

Antonio almost wanted to laugh at the cleverly constructed lie. But he managed to only reply: "Oh. Okay..." Then he remembered something. "Hey, you look much better than the last time I saw you. I guess 'Dimwit' is doing alright?" he asked innocently.

Italy took a deep breath, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Honestly, I do not know. He stopped moping around at least, but he still hopes that it was all a big misunderstanding." He paused, looking at him, eyes wide. "He wants to talk to him again! He _trusts_ the fucking lying son of a-" he stopped himself, scowling. "…But I'm not allowing that. 'Fritz' would just lie again, and Dimwit would believe him. Fuck." He grumbled, kicking a stone.

Antonio looked in another direction, but internally his mind was blown. The other twin wanted to talk to Ludwig again, even if his cover was blown?! Even better, he _trusted_ him!? That definitely was good, albeit strange, news. "Well, maybe 'Fritz' had good intentions?" He tried to suggest innocently.

"_Hell_, no, he didn't. Trust me, I know." Italy growled, sounding final.

"Hey, I was just wondering!" Antonio tried to defend himself. "Just trying to help!"

Vargas shook his head shrugging, and kept silent, manifesting that the argument was over.

The awkward silence lasted as they walked back into the direction of the pool. Antonio was about to speak up again, when a White Mask quickly approached them.

"_Signor Vargas…!_" The White Mask said, some urgency in his voice.

"…_Cazzo c'è adesso? Spero non sia un altro imbecille caduto dalle scale: avevo detto chiaro e tondo che non volevo essere disturbato!_" Vargas snapped at the man, annoyed.

The White Mask shook his head, eyed Antonio warily and neared the Boss to whisper in his ear. The Spaniard barely caught the words he spoke: "…_Braginski è già qui, e la sta cercando._"

Antonio noticed Italy pale visibly, as he muttered a curse. "…_Merda. Digli che sto arrivando._"

The White Mask quickly nodded and headed back to the Villa as fast as he could.

The Spaniard felt his blood run cold when he heard that name. Fear clutched his heart with an icy hand that may very well have belonged to General Winter himself.

Braginski.

_Oh, I am so dead,_ the Spaniard thought, feeling light-headed. Of all the mafia Bosses that could be here, it had to be the terrifying _Siberian Demon_. One of the few that he was certain they knew him. Just his luck.

"Hey bastard, I have to go. A… a friend of mine wishes to see me, and I can't let him down." Vargas turned to look at him again, some colour still missing from his face - at least the part that wasn't covered by the mask.

Antonio nodded, forcing a smile on his lips. "Of course, don't worry! I'll just go around and enjoy the party. Have fun with your friend!"

Italy started walking away, heading for the entrance, when he seemed to change his mind and turn to look at him. "Be sure to be in the porch before midnight, besides the ice bear. I'll definitely be done with this friend by then. Got it?"

Antonio only widened his smile, albeit still feeling cold fear inside his chest. "Sure, I'll be there!" he waved.

The Italian nodded, seemingly satisfied, before turning away and entering the building.

Antonio put a hand in his pocket, fingers curling themselves around the wallet. He glanced at his watch: it was only a quarter to eleven. He took a deep, shaky breath, and forced himself not to freak out. He neared a waiter and helped himself with another glass of champagne.

He also took a decision, while sitting down by a table outside. He wouldn't snoop around, not yet. It wasn't the night, there were too many people and he would risk too much. He could better be a good, nice guest and earn the Mafioso's trust. Possibly not attracting attention of other Bosses.

While looking at the magician performing fire tricks again, he did his best not to let the glass in his right hand tremble.

* * *

Italy entered the room kept private exactly for this kind of 'occasions'. It was a medium-sized room, well lit by a yellow light, and a small table was positioned in the centre of it with two chairs.

One of his men was standing motionlessly as a statue by the wall not too far away. He was wearing the trademark dark suit, a white and red handkerchief was tucked in his chest pocket, a black plain mask covering only his eyes. Mirroring him on the other side of the room stood another man, clad in a grey suit with a purple handkerchief in his chest pocket, wearing a yellow mask. But his interest was all for the man currently sitting on one of the two chairs by the table.

A big, broad man clad in a dark purple suit with small lilac stripes was waiting for him. Despite the obvious heat of the Sicilian night, he was wearing a long light-beige scarf, draped around his neck and shoulders. As if he were ready to walk into a snowy December night. Under the scarf you could catch a glimpse of a lilac tie with a small decoration jewel, shaped like a little sunflower. He wore beige gloves to match the scarf, and the mask he had on his face matched as well. It was a large mask, hiding almost completely the man's features except for the mouth and part of his cheeks: It was shaped like an owl, with purple and gold swirls as decorations. The owl's beak successfully hid the man's rather big nose, an actually impressive achievement.

Upon his arrival, the man stood up, and smiled. It wasn't a reassuring smile. At _all_. It sent a shiver down the Italian's spine. It looked innocent and sweet, it belonged onto a child's face, not on the features of this two-metres-tall bear of a man who was rumoured to enjoy beating traitors to death with an iron faucet pipe.

_As if you were any better. You have blood on your hands too, you fucking hypocrite,_ he thought bitterly.

"Привет, Italy." The other Boss greeted him smiling, holding out a gloved hand.

Italy bared his teeth scowling. "Braginski." He took the hand and shook, his eyes never leaving the Russian's masked face.

"Aw, in a sour mood again? I seem to be unlucky… Oh well." Braginski shrugged, and sat down again.

Italy sat down as well and crossed his arms. The Russian chuckled. "I must say, comrade, you've outdone yourself yet again. I've never been to such an enjoyable capitalist party as this… I particularly liked the ice sculpture, wonderful craftsmanship."

Italy scowled. "Listen Ivan, if you are going to start bitching about capitalism and communism again, I swear I am leaving this room. And I know you like my parties, you commie." He added, daring.

Ivan laughed deeply, leaning back in the chair. "Ah, always so grumpy, never in the mood of a joke, are you? No fun at all. Oh well, then I'd like to talk about _business_." He leaned forwards, propping his elbows on the table's surface and intertwining his gloved fingers in front of his face.

"I guess you're in an awful need of men, if you have to leave your comfortable palace in the USSR, aren't you?" Italy sneered, but Ivan's smile didn't falter. "Well, fuck, just tell me what you need." Italy smiled sweetly himself.

Ivan cocked his head to one side, action which made him look even more like an over-sized owl. "I guess I am in need of men, дa… I'm also here for an offer myself, but first, like you said, I need a good… how do you call it? A good shot. Someone good with guns. And I know your men are particularly good. Some of the best."

"Ha! You can say that again." Italy leaned back in the chair again, looking pensive. "Hmm… How many, exactly?"

"Two will suffice. I am already planning to talk to Yao as well, later…"

"Fair enough." Vargas turned his head to look at his man. "Give me Lorenzo and Francesco's file." He held out a hand, and the man immediately materialized, as if out of nowhere, two files. Italy put them on the table, turning do they would face the Russian.

"Here, look. Lorenzo is one of my best shooters, he's worth a _lot_." Italy pointed at the small picture of a handsome looking young man with curly hair. "Francesco is very good as well, way above average, but one level below Lorenzo." He pointed at the second picture, showing another young man with short hair and dazzling blue eyes. "However, they work as a team, and they are pretty damn good at it and so almost inseparable. That's what you were looking for?"

Ivan nodded, looking satisfied enough as he quickly read the two files. "Ah, yes. They will do just perfectly. And no family, neither of them, no surnames… Excellent, they'll be ready to go to Mother Russia immediately, I suppose?"

Italy shrugged. "Whatever you order them, they'll do it. No questions, none. They're very skilled, a perfect team. They can shoot at a rabbit through the eyes so they don't ruin the fur. Imagine shooting in a man's kneecap or eye: piece of cake for them, and especially stealthy if you give them a silencer. Is that good?"

"идеальный."

"Speak in a language I can _understand_, Braginski." Vargas snarled at the Russian. Italy's hand quickly went to his pocket, and he extracted a toothpick, which soon was between his clenched teeth. He had to concentrate heavily simply not to let his hands tremble. This man in front of him scared him - and not only him, he was feared by most in the Soviet Union - and even if they were 'comrades' and colleagues, he still unsettled him.

Ivan smiled a toothless smile. "I said 'perfect', do not worry." He took the files and gave them to his man, who made them disappear in a black leather bag.

"Now, I'd like you to hear my offer." Ivan said, with a small purr in his voice.

"Spill it. I don't have the whole fucking night, you know." Vargas muttered, glancing at his watch.

Braginski sighed. "Ah, always so impatient. You should take things slow, enjoy the moments while they last! Anyway, back on topic, I know that you usually like to purchase bodyguards from me, am I right?" Vargas curtly nodded in response. "…Well, tonight I have something different. I know it is not your _style_, but… I have an explosives expert for you." The Russian continued, his lips curling up once more.  
Italy suddenly stood straight again, shaking his head left and right frantically. "Oh no, nonono. No explosions, Ivan, no way. We talked about this. No fucking way." He repeated.

Braginski's smile widened, and he used his most childish voice. "Oh, but this one is different, trust me! His precision is stunning, it is almost incredible. You could hold an egg in your hand…" Ivan mimicked the gesture, "…and he would be able to blow it to tiny little pieces, leaving you completely intact, fingers included. Well, you'd get a bit dirty, but that is not the point." Ivan chuckled, as if actually imagining the scene, and looked at the Italian expectantly. "Are you interested now?"

Italy remained silent for quite a while, thinking. "…You are absolutely sure of his accuracy? You know I don't want any fucking sloppiness with this kind of stuff. …I don't want the damn cops going after me because he accidentally blew up a whole bridge instead of a single car."

Italy could see Ivan's eyes twinkle behind his mask. "Oh, don't worry! He won't blow up any bridge unless you tell him so. He's the best I've ever seen, he could blow up the driver of a car and leave the other passengers unscathed. He is very skilled, trust me." He repeated.

Vargas seemed to ponder the offer, bringing a hand up to his chin. "If he's so damn good, why the fuck don't _you_ want to keep him?" He asked suspiciously.

Ivan grinned again. "Well, that's simple. He doesn't like me, he has to work for me because of a debt. I took him out of prison, you see. Oh, and he also hates me for something else, but you'll see that for yourself if you want to read the file. And I am personally convinced that he'd rather follow your lead, knowing your…" he paused. "…peculiar _modus operandi_."

Italy remained silent for a good whole minute, thinking. Then, he seemed to take a decision. "Well, fuck me. I think he'll be useful, show me the goddamn file."

"You won't regret it, I assure you." Ivan continued smiling. He turned and exchanged a few words with his man in Russian, and then he had the yellow files in his hands. He put it on the table and turned so Italy could read. However, he put one gloved finger on the name of the man. "Now, do not worry when you read his name. He's not the famous one, the one we all know. Just a relative, if I understood right." He removed the finger.

Vargas's eyes widened as he looked at the name. "What the…?" Then, he burst out laughing, stunned. "Hahahahaha! You've got to be kidding me!"

"I assure you it is not a joke." Ivan said, looking amused.

"Oh, the irony! What a goddamn _sick_ trick of fate! Hahaha!"

"It seems you are pleased, hm?" Ivan purred, relieved by the other Boss's reaction.

"You bet! Fuck yes, I'll take him!" Italy said, an evil smirk on his features, eyes twinkling. "He's very well worth both Lorenzo and Francesco, even if he's not as good as you claim he is."

Braginski almost seemed offended. "He is, you have my word. And I am a man that honours his word."

"Aren't we all?" Italy took a deep breath, feeling a tingle of excitement in his bones despite himself. "I need a fucking drink to celebrate and close this deal. You'll have Vodka, like usual, right?"

The Russian nodded, and Italy turned to his man to order something for himself as well. In a matter of moments, a big glass of Vodka and one of Rum were on the table.

Vargas glanced at the file again, before giving it to his man. "You think he's able to set off fireworks, too?"

"He can do anything, if you just tease him in the right way." Ivan chuckled, his fingers curling around his glass.

Italy cocked an eyebrow. "You mean, the 'I bet you can't set off fireworks' kind of tease?"

"Exactly."

"Ha. Well, I'll send him do the fireworks immediately, then. I hired an expert, but I bet that the two of them will be able to work good together and have a hell of a time blowing up that shitload of stuff I bought." Vargas grabbed his glass as well.

The Russian brought up the glass, bowing his head a little. "Another wonderful trade, Italy. Let's toast to us. And I'll toast to my new men, Lorenzo and Francesco!"

Italy, smiling, brought up his glass as well, amber liquid swirling in it. "To us, then. And to my new man as well, to Gilbert fucking Beilschmidt!"

The glasses tinkled.

* * *

Not too far away, Ludwig was leaning against a car, with Delisi by his side. They were on the spot agreed with Antonio, if things happened to go wrong.

"Cigarette?" The Lieutenant offered him one.

Ludwig shook his head. "No, thank you. I don't smoke."

Delisi shrugged and lit his cigarette, cupping his hands for the flame.

Suddenly, the night sky lit up, when a crimson firework exploded. Ludwig's gaze immediately looked in the direction of the Villa, where the firework show was starting.

He watched the start of the colourful show together with the Lieutenant. Green, gold, white, blue orange, purple and red sparks… bangs, whistles, fizzles and explosions echoed through the night.

He smiled nostalgically, as he remembered the fireworks he and his brother - especially his brother - loved to blow up. He shook his head. That was a long, long time ago.

The fireworks continued to brighten up the night.

Ludwig glanced at his watch, almost a quarter to midnight. He hoped Antonio was still okay.

* * *

**HOLY CRAP.**

**Just... holy crap. I think I wanted to add something in this Author Note, but I think I forgot. Like most of the times, anyway.**

**See you next chapter! ;)**

**...**

_****__Damnaciòn :__ (spanish) Damn it._

**___Fratello : _**___(italian) Brother._

**_____Signore, la prego di seguirmi : _**_____(italian) Mister, please follow me._

**_______Le auguriamo una buona serata : _**_______(italian) We wish you a pleasant evening._

**_____Cannoli :_ **___Cannoli are Sicilian pastry desserts. Its name means 'little tube'. In fact, cannoli consist in tube-shaped shells of fried pastry dough, filled with a sweet creamy filling containing 'ricotta'(Italian whey sheep cheese). They range in size from "cannulicchi", no bigger than a finger, to the fist-sized proportions typically found south of Palermo. _

**_Cazzo c'è adesso? Spero non sia un altro imbecille caduto dalle scale: avevo detto chiaro e tondo che non volevo essere disturbato! : _**_(italian) What the fuck, now? I hope it wasn't another imbecile who fell down the stairs: I told you sound and clear I didn't want to be disturbed!_

**_Braginski è già qui, e la sta cercando : _**_(italian) Braginski is already here, and he's looking for you._

**_Merda. Digli che sto arrivando : _**_(italian) Shit. Tell him I'm coming._

**_____Привет : _**_____(russian) Hello._

**_идеальный : _**_(russian) Perfect._


	15. Fireworks

**Ciao everybody! How are you all? **

**Another long chapter... *groan* even if some of you tell me that they enjoy longer chapters more, I still feel uncomfortable... oh well!**

**By the way, sorry if I didn't answer to your reviews yet! (like you know, i LOVE them and LOVE answering to them) but I currently kind of don't have much time on the Internet, so the little time I have I use to upload chapters! As soon as I'm back home (yes I am still on holiday... *eyebrow wiggle*) I will answer to you all, darlings!**

**I honestly didn't expect that many reviews from last chapter! XD glad it turned out otherwise.**

**ARGH! Long author rant is long on top of a long chapter! I'll stop here!**

**Please sit back, und ENJOY.**

* * *

Antonio was slowly getting a hold of himself again. At least his hand had stopped trembling, the initial shock of learning that Braginski was there slowly wearing off. He was continuously checking the time, and he noticed that slowly but steadily the 24th hour of the day was passing. First eleven o'clock, then eleven fifteen, it was already eleven twenty… Midnight was approaching fast.

Someone suddenly plopped down in the seat beside him, sighing loudly.

"Phooey! What a party! Best I've seen in years, honest. Hey, hello there!" He exclaimed, noticing him. Antonio looked at the man.

He was wearing a strange long black suit with red seams and a red shirt. He had black gloves and- were those leather boots?! Well, they looked good with the suit, the Spaniard guessed it was alright. The man was wearing also a peculiar small black hat on his spiky blonde hair, and a silver mask covered his eyes. On the hat there was a silvery pin in the form of a double-edged axe. Wasn't he hot in those thick-looking clothes? It _was_ a Sicilian night, after all. But he seemed alright, so he didn't ask.

"Hello!" Antonio said politely. "Yes, it is a good party!" he smiled.

The stranger grinned. "Hell yes it is! They also have _real_ beer here, not that shitty Italian stuff. Hell, I'll admit that they're masters with wines, but Italians can't make good beer to save their lives. In fact, I believe this comes from Belgium." The man burped sonorously. "Oof, I think I had one or two too much…" He held up an mug as big as a bucket so that Antonio could see, and the Spaniard's eyes widened.

"…How many of those did you drink already?!" He asked, stunned.

"Uh, I think six… but I might be wrong!" The stranger shrugged grinning and downed the last gulps of beer, banging the mug onto the table when he had finished. He smacked his lips, satisfied. "Aaahh, delicious. But I'm being rude. Name's Mathias, pleased to meet'cha!" He held out a gloved hand.

Antonio felt a strange déjà-vu wash over him, though he was sure he had never met the man. "Antonio, pleased as well!" and shook the hand.

Mathias leaned back in his chair, looking at the partying people. "I've never seen so many celebrities gathered together and do the stupid things all people do. Did you notice?" He chuckled.

"What do you mean?" Antonio asked, puzzled.

The man smirked, pointing at two men who were obviously drunk, hanging onto each other trying to stand straight. They were both singing, slurring the words, the mask of one of the two hanging lopsided on one ear while the other was holding a bottle of champagne in his hands. "Just look at them! Getting drunk with _champagne_, but nonetheless drunk." One of the two tripped, and they both fell into the pool. "See what I mean?"

They both laughed, as a couple of White Masks hurried to the waters to help the two out. "You're right!" Antonio exclaimed.

"You bet I am!" The man laughed. "Hey, I like you! Want to join me for a prank?" Mathias suddenly asked leaning towards him, eyes sparkling with excitement behind his mask.

Antonio was sill chuckling, looking at the two soaked and still drunk celebrities. "Like what?"

Mathias grinned devilishly. "Let's get some fireworks - I know where they have them here -, make a hole in our big icy friend here," He pointed with a thumb at the sculpture behind them "and make it go _kaboom!_"

Antonio smiled as well, imagining the scene. It felt incredibly stupid and fun, and he actually wanted to do it, but then he remembered what Ludwig had told him. He had to keep a low profile. "Ah, I'd love to, it sounds like a lot of fun! But no thank you, I have to meet somebody soon," He thought of Vargas, "And I can't let him down by not showing up." He said, while another thought crossed his mind. _He'd probably have me shot if I didn't show up._

"Awww, party pooper." Mathias whined like a child. "Come onnnn, we won't be gone for long!" He tried convincing him. He started elbowing and poking him. "And I know you want to, I saw it…" He teased sweetly.

"No, I-I can't, really." The Spaniard shook his head.

"Pretty please…?" Mathias changed tactic, and pouted, seriously _pouted_ like a child, eyes begging.

Antonio was about to reply, when suddenly, a man appeared behind them, grunting the man's name. "M'thias."

Mathias jumped in his chair in surprise. "Whoa, Sve! You scared the hell out of me!" he exclaimed, turning to 'Sve'.

Antonio turned in his chair too, and his neck hurt just to look at the man's face, from his sitting position. He was _tall_…! He was wearing a navy blue suit with golden buttons, a slightly darker blue tie around his neck. He was also wearing gloves, although his were white, just like his shirt and mask, and a pair of rectangular glasses rested on his nose. His face had somehow a rectangular shape as well. But the most remarkable feature… Even if they were hidden behind glasses and mask, Antonio could distinguish his eyes _very_ well. Those light blue mixed with light green eyes possessed a terrifying piercing gaze that made him swallow dryly. If glares could kill, he'd be more than dead by now.

The giant, 'Sve', scanned him also from head to toe, before grunting. "Hn."

Mathias sighed, not looking too impressed by the enormous man after the jump-scare. "What is it? I was planning something good to shake up the party a little!" He grinned again.

"We h've to go. They're wait'ng f'r us." 'Sve' grunted, his English so heavily accented Antonio barely understood him.

"Whaa? Already? _Lort_… I need another beer." Mathias stood up, looking disappointed. He paused, thinking. "Hmmm… Hey Sve, could you please fetch Norge for me?"

'Sve' remained silent, as still as a statue. Seemingly unfazed of the death glare coming from the man, Mathias insisted. "Now come on, don't go all grumpy on me, hey? I'll wait here while you fetch Norge."

He sat down again, and 'Sve' disappeared as suddenly as he had appeared, but not before shooting another glare at Mathias.

Antonio looked at him puzzled. "Sve…? Norge…?" he asked.

Mathias stopped a waiter and ordered a beer, and then shrugged, smiling. "Nothing important, they're just my colleagues, and I gave them a nickname by the nations they come from. Pretty cool, huh?"

The Spaniard glanced up at the dark sky. "So, Sweden and Norway…?"

"Ding ding! Exactly! Technically, I would be Den, but nobody calls me that. Shame." Mathias laughed, and grabbed the new mug (bucket) of beer. "Want some?"

Antonio shook his head, thanking.

Suddenly, 'Sve' reappeared in front of them, with another man by his side. Antonio guessed this was 'Norge'.

"Heyyyy, Norge! Join me and my new friend! Want a beer?" Mathias cheered, holding up the full mug, the golden liquid almost sloshing over the edge.

'Norge' wore a suit whose colour was somewhere between purple and blue, with a bright red tie. His mask was blue and gold and covered most of his features. Antonio also noticed a small golden hair clip shaped like a cross by his ear, holding a strand of blonde hair back.

When 'Norge' opened his mouth to speak, Antonio was surprised to hear how flat his voice sounded, in contrast to Mathias's bubbly and loud one.

"Get off your ass, Mathias, and leave the beer." He said, his pokerface visible beneath the mask.

Mathias groaned, putting the beer down slowly. "Party poopers, the lot of ya. Oh well, I guess I have no choice." He stood up sighing, and then turned towards the Spaniard. "Sorry bro, I have to go. But it was nice knowing ya! I hope we meet again, 'kay?"

Antonio nodded smiling. "Sure, why not?"

Mathias grinned, but then was elbowed in the stomach by 'Norge'. "Move, idiot. We're late, Emil's already there."

"You left Ice all alone? What kind of brother are you?!" Mathias said, seemingly unfazed by the elbow and feigning horror. 'Norge' grabbed his elbow and started dragging him away, 'Sve' following them in silence.

Antonio smiled, wondering where 'Ice' might come from. Iceland, maybe? Probably. Wow, they were all coming from far away. He guessed they were having some kind of reunion or something like that, because they apparently all knew each other.

He glanced at his watch. Precisely eleven thirty. He took the green pill from his wallet and put it in his pocket so he would be able to reach it quickly when the time was right. He guessed he could go eat something, and so stood up and went to the hall.

* * *

Italy exited the room with Braginski, and the two shook hands. Ivan smiled, and yet again a shiver ran down the Italian's spine. The Russian wished him well, and then left with his man, heading back to the party. They were in a private wing of the Villa, no one was there to see them except the men that _knew_.

He heard some people approaching, and he quickly glanced at his watch. Then, five people emerged from around the corner.

One was one of his men, wearing one of those white masks, guiding the others. The other four, well…

It would have almost looked comic if you didn't know who they were.

The smallest of the four wore a brown suit with white boots and a matching mask, and was elbowing the ribs of the man walking beside him. This man had a blue - or was it purple?- suit and had a strange cross-shaped clip by his ear, and seemed unfazed by the continuous pokes, judging by his pokerface. The third was taller than the first two, and was laughing loudly walking behind them, heavy black boots underlining each step he took. The fourth, the tallest, walked silently behind them all, a dark shadow over his eyes as if to underline the already deadly glare he possessed.

Italy didn't understand well how the 'Nordic mafia' worked, but it was very well organised nonetheless. He guessed the four of them all cooperated together, covering ground all the way from Iceland to Finland. Each one had control over a certain area, and to be more precise, the very nation they came from.

However, he would never understand why the spiky-haired Dane had been chosen to be the leader, because he definitely didn't act like one. But there had to be a reason behind that, as well as behind his nickname. Almost every Boss had a nickname they were known with by the population and the police. Braginski, for example, was the Siberian Demon. So there had to be a reason for the Dane's nickname, the Viking; Vikings weren't really known for their kindness and ability to weave flower crowns. The tall scary one was known as the Giant, the reason pretty obvious. The one with the clip was known as the Magician, though Italy wasn't really sure if he wanted to know why… The smallest of the four was too young, having just taken over the position, to have a nickname. Italy frowned bitterly, when he thought what his own nickname had become. Moody Butcher, Moody for short.

Also, another thing that wasn't really clear to him about those four was who controlled Finland, since there wasn't a Fin in their group…

The spiky-haired man noticed him first, and opened his arms while walking. "_There _you are, Italy!" He exclaimed as if he had been searching him for hours. "I'm glad for your recovery! I hope you'll give the damn Nazi some payback, hey? Oh, and I saw Braginski while coming here, I was worried he might have killed you! The guy's _creepy!_"

Italy bared his teeth, scowling at the group. He didn't have to be reminded about the 'Nazi' who got his brother shot. He bit down on the toothpick, crossing his arms. "You're fucking _late_, Khøler!"

"Blame the beer, friend! It was so delicious I forgot the time!" the Dane laughed, while the man with the hair clip made him trip with a well-placed foot.

"Whoa!" Mathias exclaimed, regaining his footing just in time before falling face-first. "Norge! What the hell!" he turned to look at the Norwegian culprit, who innocently turned away, pokerfaced.

Italy facepalmed, together with the boy in the brown suit. Yes, _boy_, because he was barely even eighteen. Italy felt some pity for him for being so young and already so-…

"I'll never understand them…" the Icelandic boy groaned, interrupting his thoughts.

Italy shook his head, sighing. "Me neither. A-hem!" He coughed to get their attention. "I believe we have some fucking _business_ to settle."

Mathias grinned a shark-like smile, cocking his head to one side. "Of course, of course! Lead the way."

And they all entered the very same room he and Braginski had used minutes before.

* * *

Antonio was enjoying himself at the buffet table. He had moved to the sweet sector and was currently eating a wonderful big cannolo.

While swallowing the last huge bite, he suddenly felt the hair on his neck stand up. There was a small tingle between his shoulder blades, the feeling that somebody is looking at you. Antonio gulped, and slowly turned around.

At first, he didn't notice anybody. There was another band on stage now, but the people were still dancing and chatting loudly. No one was looking at him.

Then he saw him. A man, at the other end of the hall, was staring at him across the crowd. Not that Antonio would have worried, in normal circumstances. The man looked pretty normal, having a mask like everybody else, actually it was a beautiful mask, shaped like an owl…

…but then he noticed just how tall the man was, and the beige scarf draped around his neck and shoulders.

_No…_

Antonio felt his heart drop, and his insides turned into ice for the second time that evening. He took a step back.

_Oh no, oh no, no no no please no…_

The man cocked his head to one side, and even from that distance, Antonio could see he was smiling.

Antonio immediately turned away and headed for the nearest exit, shoving people out of his way as politely as he could while he was freaking out. His instincts were all screaming at him to run, run as fast and as far as he could, but that would attract even more attention; and it was actually kind of impossible, with all the people crowding the place. He honestly was downright _panicking_, but he had to stay calm, blend in with the partying crowd, slip away unnoticed, get outside, hide…

_Please don't find me please don't find me hide hide quick hide PLEASE DON'T FIND ME…_

He finally was outside, and dared looking back to check if he was following him. The absence of an owl-shaped mask between the hundreds of other masks reassured him, and he shakily sighed out of relief. He turned forwards again and bumped into somebody.

A _tall_ somebody.

At his eye-level, Antonio could see a lilac tie with a small sunflower-shaped jewel, and a beige scarf centimetres from his nose.

Antonio froze, eyes widening, not even daring to look up or step back. Pure terror nailed him to the floor, and made his heart tremble.

Soviet mafia Boss Ivan Braginski slowly bowed, so that his lips were millimetres from his ear. Cool breath tickled his neck, giving him goose-bumps.

"Привет, Carriedo." The Siberian Demon whispered softly. From the simple tone of his voice, Antonio knew he was still smiling. A single sweat drop rolled down his cheek.

"H-hello, Ivan." He croaked. He knew he had to please the him, play by his little games, to buy precious time.

"Long time no see, hey? It's been a while. A year, perhaps. Paris, was it?" the Russian purred in his ear.

Antonio swallowed thickly, remembering the crazy chase. "…I-I guess s-so…"

"Yes, I am pretty sure it was Paris. You shot my shoulder, I remember it all too well. It still hurts in your presence, did you know that…?" he hissed. "And it seems we both enjoy the company of the same kind of people, hmm…? Is it Italy Vargas?" Ivan hummed.

Antonio tried to swallow again and failed, fear acting like bleach in his mind and distorting his thoughts. He didn't know how to answer to that.

Ivan remained silent for some dreadful seconds. Neither of them was moving, no one around them was noticing anything.

Then, "…Be more careful next time, дa? I think you dropped this." Ivan whispered, putting something in his pocket, and slowly patting it.

…Pat.

…Pat.  
…Pat.

"…Enjoy the party."

The Russian straightened up again, and left Antonio's sight. The Spaniard still didn't dare to move, as if one single movement, even blinking, would suddenly make him explode. He then slowly, terribly slowly, looked around.

Nothing, Ivan was gone, disappeared in the colourful sea of partying people.

He then barely registered… he was still alive.

Antonio released a breath he didn't know he had been holding, and suddenly felt very weak and light-headed, legs no more than wobbly strands of spaghetti. He gingerly walked towards the nearest table, where his knees buckled under him, conveniently out of sight of most of the partying crowd.

He fell painfully, but it barely registered in his still frozen mind. He gripped the edge of the chair, knuckles turning white, feeling his heart hammering against his ribcage. There was only one thing he could think of at the moment, while he stared at his knees, shaking wholly.

…_Did he actually… spare me…?_

He could have simply gutted him there and then. Shot him. Or shouted that there was an intruder. Call his own men, the dogs, Vargas's men, Vargas himself… He could have done _anything_! Ivan had plenty enough reasons to want him dead, the bullet in Paris being one of them, yet… the Demon hadn't killed him in those short moments, when he had been most vulnerable and so _close _he could literally count the threads of his scarf.

Antonio, still in shock, slowly moved a hand towards his pocket to feel what Ivan had given him. Knowing the Russian, it would be something terrifying. An already active grenade, a human eyeball, an ear, a finger, or a bullet. He feared the bullet the most, because it was a clear message: death.

His fingers felt something cold and metallic. All right, no human bits, at least. He took a deep shaky breath, grabbed the object, extracted it from the pocket and stared at it.  
He didn't know if he felt more relieved or confused.

Why on earth had Ivan given him two _keys_…?

* * *

A White Mask was silently observing a man arranging fireworks, on one of the Villa's many ample balconies. Stacked all around them were rockets in every colour and size, together with many boxes and crates full of other flammable goodies.

Everything was going smoothly, the White Mask couldn't wait for the show to start, when suddenly, a man appeared from the stairs.

"_Mein Gott_, look at all this stuff! This is going to be awesome, I can tell." The man was clad in a grey suit, with a dark blue mask decorated with a small crimson ribbon. But that wasn't the strangest thing. The White Mask's eyes widened when he noticed the man's hair: as white as snow, even if you could clearly see he was in his mid-twenties.

The firework expert straightened his back to look at him. "So you're the guy that's supposed to help me?" he snorted, clearly unimpressed. "You've got to be kidding me, you're barely a man! Go back chasing skirts, this is something for grown-ups."

"Watch your tongue, old man." The albino smirked. "The awesome me has got more experience with explosions than you will ever have, I assure you."

"Oh really? Please, teach me, master." The old man asked with mock sweetness, bowing.

"Live with the damn commies for more than ten years, and if you survive, come back to me and maybe, just maybe you will be at my level." The albino growled.

"Well, tell me then, who is this 'awesome me' brat I have to put up with this night?" The man bared his teeth, obviously not pleased as well.

The albino raised his chin, and neared the firework expert. He held out a hand, smirking. "The awesome Gilbert Beilschmidt is here to set all these babies on fire!" He cackled.

The White Mask gasped, but tried not to show his surprise. He remained as still as a statue, and luckily the other two hadn't noticed a thing.

"Enzo." The firework expert stated, not taking the hand.

The albino didn't seem to care of the man's rudeness, and turned towards the many positioned rockets. He placed his hands on his hips, examining the fireworks. "Now, let the show begin." He chuckled, picking up a particularly big rocket. He grinned devilishly. "Let's start with this red one, hm?"

* * *

Antonio was still staring at the keys in his palm, trying to understand what they meant, when he heard a long, loud, whistle. Antonio looked up, and he saw a big crimson firework exploding, announcing the begin of the show.

Two girls hurried past him, giggling. "The show's starting! Quick! The mask drop will be precisely at midnight, I can't wait to see who that guy with the golden mask was!" more giggles.

The Spaniard shook his head, ordering himself to get a grip on himself. Miraculously, he almost immediately stopped shaking, and stood up quickly while putting the keys in his pocket again. He'd figure those out later, he had a more pressing matter to attend to and no time to be scared. He glanced at his watch: a quarter to midnight.

Doubt crossed Antonio's mind. Should he take the pill already? He had eaten a lot - scratch that, he had wolfed down half of the buffet - would it slow the process or accelerate it instead? What if the pill reacted too slowly?!

He frantically looked around, noticing that everybody was looking up at the firework display.

Fizzles, whistles and explosions reverberated loudly in his eardrums, followed by the many 'oooooh!' and 'aaah!' of the crowd staring in awe.

He quickly took out the pill and dropped it into his mouth. He'd wait a couple of minutes, and then swallo-

"_There_ you are, Antonio!" Someone shouted, slapping him on the back.

The Spaniard was so startled that he accidentally swallowed, the pill disappearing inside his throat.

He choked and coughed in surprise, before turning to look at the culprit, who revealed himself to be Italy Vargas. Exactly in that moment, a combination of red and orange fireworks lit up the night, giving the mafia Boss an eerie appearance, almost demonic, especially with that mask.

"I-Italy?!" he coughed, glancing at his watch. Not even ten before midnight. Oh, he dearly hoped the timing wouldn't be wrong…

"Tell me, why the fuck were you hiding behind a table moments ago?" Italy shouted over the rumbling fireworks, which were now green and purple.

"My shoelace was untied!" Antonio shouted back smiling.

"Dumbass!"

Antonio didn't hear him over the sound of a massive white firework shower. "_What?!_"

"_Nevermind!_"  
"_WHAT!?_"

Italy Vargas elbowed him, annoyed, but Antonio thought he saw the Mafioso smiling faintly. "_Enjoy the show, idiot!_"

And he did, they both did. They simply stood there, heads turned upwards to look at the sky. Rockets shot up in the night whistling, before bursting with coloured light. It was an impressive display, going from gold showers of glitters, to purple balls looking like many little Saturns, to green and blue massive fireworks that made your heart tremble when they exploded.

During one of the climaxes of the show, suddenly, Antonio felt something in his stomach. A small tug of something, but it was… unnatural.

_Uh-oh_… he thought, glancing at his watch for the umpteenth time that evening. Two minutes before midnight.

It started slowly, the tug had been only the beginning, a warning about what was about to come. His bowels started constricting themselves at random pace, ache and a hint of nausea slowly building up. Antonio didn't need to act when he positioned a hand over his stomach, groaning.

"…_Are you okay?_" Antonio heard Italy shout vaguely, over the rumbling fireworks. But his hearing was somehow muffled, as if someone had positioned a thick wall of glass between him and the world.

"Yes, don't worr-"

His stomach gave a powerful churn that made him flinch, and he doubled over himself, groaning.

"Urgh…!"

"_Antonio, you fucker! What's wrong?!_" Italy's muffled voice barely reached his ears.

Dear God, he had never felt so sick in his life. If he survived, he definitely was going to make the Captain pay for this.

The nausea made the colourful world around him spin wildly, he wobbled on his feet, now both arms wrapped around his stomach.

"I need a-" he panted "…bathroom…"

Someone grabbed his shoulders, and helped him stay stable as they started walking somewhere. Antonio hoped it was a bathroom, he couldn't really see where he was going, the world having become a strange unfocused blur of colours. He smelt the ugly smell of bile and he clasped a hand over his mouth, doing his best not to hurl over his own shoes. He groaned again as his stomach had another spasm. The Spaniard really felt in the mood of poisoning a certain Brit's tea right now…

What on earth was there in that pill!? Had the Brit made it himself by stuffing some of his cooking in it!?

His insides felt as if they were made of boiling, scorching-hot lava, combined with some barbwire. He suppressed a retch while staggering on his feet. The world was spinning too much now, he closed his eyes so he wouldn't get any more nauseous.

"Hnng…" He groaned, as his abdomen had another spasm, stronger than the last. He wouldn't last much longer…

"_Come on! We're almost there!_" Italy snarled at nobody in particular.

Antonio opened his eyes again, and found himself in a white-tiled, bright-lit room. A toilet. There were many doors, but Antonio ran to the nearest one without even needing anymore support, and he slammed it open. He collapsed on his knees and finally had some relief, emptying his stomach.

"Bleh, disgusting." He heard Italy comment, not too far away. "What the fuck happened, Antonio?!"

Antonio could still hear the fireworks coming from outside, and people yelling a countdown. It must be midnight.

"I…" He was panting, while he raised his head. "I don't know…urgh!" he bowed his head down in the toilet again. "I think…I might be allergic to something…" He wheezed, lucidity slowly coming back to him.

"…Like what?" Italy didn't sound too convinced.

"…Kiwi." Antonio moaned. He had known somebody who really was allergic to those fruits, and it was true that eating them gave him this reaction. Medically speaking, he was treading on safe ground.

"You've got to be kidding me…" Vargas muttered, sounding tired. "So you fucking drank the green punch…?"

"Maybe… did it taste like apples?" The Spaniard asked, chest heaving.

"God almighty, you are such a jackass." Italy wrinkled his nose when Antonio's head went down in the toilet again. "Serves you right, I guess, for your stupidity. Next time, be more careful!"

Antonio heard the countdown end and the crowd cheering. The cheers however were immediately drowned by a climax of the fireworks.

The Spaniard swallowed the lingering bile, and sat straight again, panting. He swore to himself he would never, ever take a pill like that again.

"I think… I think it is over, now…" He wheezed, a hand over his abdomen.

Italy neared him, and flushed the toilet. He looked down on him, shaking his head. "God damn it, Antonio. This really was disgusting."

The Spaniard weakly chuckled, and slowly tried to stand up. Halfway through, though, the world started spinning again, and he would have fallen if somebody hadn't caught him.

"Hey, thank you…" He muttered smiling.

"For fuck's sake, stand straight!" The Italian snarled, holding him up while they walked to the sinks. Antonio was staring at their reflection in the long mirror, and suddenly started laughing.

"What's so funny?" Italy huffed.

The Spaniard pointed at the mirror. "Hahaha! Your face is all red! You look like a tomato!" He mentally slapped himself. _Way to go Antonio, tell a moody mafia Boss that he looks like a tomato. Idiot!_ A part of his mind thought. But he wasn't completely himself yet after the devastating effects of the little green pill.

The Mafioso seemed dumbstruck. "Seriously? Are you sure you still have a brain in there or did I accidentally flush it?" he said.

Antonio stopped leaning onto the Italian and locked his elbows onto the edges of the sink. The world stopped spinning, and he seized the opportunity to wash his face. He quickly removed the mask, positioning it to one side, and cupped his hands for water.

While he was washing his features, eyes closed, he heard someone approaching.

"Oh, so you are in here! You missed the mask drop, Italy…" Someone said, sounding surprised.

The voice made Antonio's blood run cold for the umpteenth time. What was Braginski doing here!?

He kept washing his face.

"As if I'd care for some stupid mask drop, Ivan." The Italian snapped.

"Is your friend alright?" Ivan asked, sounding concerned. Antonio had to admit, he was a great actor.

"He's not my friend!" Italy exclaimed, sounding disgusted. But the Spaniard heard that he didn't really mean it. "And no, he is not alright. At least he wasn't."

Antonio built up the courage to stand straight again and grab a small towel to dry his face.

"Well, I hope you are alright now, right, Antonio?" Ivan hummed merrily.

Antonio lowered the towel, and looked at the Russian in the mirror. He didn't have his mask on now, the Boss held it between his gloved fingers. Without the mask you could distinguish his face very well in the brightly-lit bathroom. His features were rounded, plump cheeks just like a child's. Blond hair so pale it almost had a silvery shimmer framed his face in delicate waves, and the strangest eyes he had ever seen shimmered while looking at him. They were an unsettling and bizarre colour, not exactly what you'd call reassuring and what definitely only added to the Russian's nickname: a strange shade of violet cast in dark blue that made them almost seem _purple_. Finally, he had a rather large nose, sticking out as if wanting to be noticed as well between the almost hypnotizing eyes.

"Yes, I am feeling better, thank you Ivan." Antonio answered, barely managing not to stutter. What was this devil thinking!? What kind of game was he playing?!

"You know him…?" Italy asked the Russian, suspicion tainting his voice, eyes narrowing. The Spaniard could almost feel the sudden tension in the air.

But Braginski smiled broadly, as he patted Antonio on the shoulder. "Дa! We met earlier, before the fireworks started. I also warned him his shoelace was untied."

Antonio wasn't really sure if he wanted to know how Braginski had heard him using that lame excuse. But he played along, smiling broadly as well, turning to face them. "Ah-uh! Just met him, though he had a creepy owl mask."

"You mean this?" Ivan innocently held up the mask. "Creepy?" he almost sounded hurt.

Italy seemed to visibly relax at this, at least his shoulders did.

"…Goddamn it Antonio, you look like shit. You should go home."

The Spaniard thought he had never felt so happy to go away from somewhere as in that moment. He had almost had a couple of heart attacks and suffered the effects of the treacherous pill. He found no shame in calling it a night. He studied himself in the mirror, and the Mafioso had been right. He looked pale, and already more sweat drops were forming themselves on his forehead.

"…You're right, I don't look too good…" He feigned he had another retch. "Oof."

"That's it, go home. If you really have to throw up again please do it where I'm not present, thank you very much." Italy grabbed his shoulders and steered him out of the bathroom.

"Bye, Antonio!" Ivan said cheerfully, waving with a gloved hand. Then, "See you some other time." he added ominously, barely more than a whisper. The Russian touched his right shoulder, and Antonio gulped. Italy didn't notice anything.

In no time they were in the hall again, and then in the park. By the road there were many luxurious cars parked, chauffeurs merrily chatting with each other smoking cigarettes. Not too far away there were a couple of taxis, Italy steered him to the nearest one.  
"I am sorry for that, I made you miss the finale of the show…" Antonio muttered.

"Not your fault, bastard. And by the way, who cares about the fireworks, I can see them next time. Only you should watch out more for kiwis, you nearly gave me a heart attack back there." Italy grumbled.

Antonio felt a faint pang of guilt. The Mafioso had been worried for him? A part of him was saying 'Good, plan is proceeding like expected!', but another part was saying 'He really is worrying about you… and Ludwig was right. The grumpy twin doesn't really look like he likes being in the mafia as well'.

He weakly smiled. "Of course, I'll be more careful. Sorry for worrying you."  
"I wasn't worried…!" Italy tried to defend himself, but didn't sound too convinced. "…Fuck." When he saw Antonio grinning like a fool, he sighed. "Get in the taxi, idiot, and go home. I'll see you tomorrow at the harbour's café. Just to check you haven't died because of that damned punch."

The Spaniard felt new hope blossom in his chest. He had flunked that night, but there were new possibilities lying open for him. "Sure! I'll be there."

That being said, he got into the taxi, which roared to life and sped away from the Villa.

Antonio gave an address to the driver, but it wasn't where the hotel was. In fact, it was a very short driove, and when the Spaniard stepped out of the vehicle, he saw Ludwig and Delisi not too far away, leaning onto the side of a car.

Ludwig looked relieved. "Thank God, Antonio, you made it!"

Antonio smiled weakly, feeling light-headed. "…Barely." And he collapsed to the ground, hearing the surprised cries of both Ludwig and Delisi before losing consciousness.

* * *

Italy was glad that at least the Russian had seen Antonio without the mask. With his allergic reaction to the fruit, he had avoided the general mask drop, and it had looked damn suspicious. But he knew for a fact that Braginski knew _every_ face and name of the people working for the police or as detectives.

Somehow, the Russian could recognise just anyone of them through all Europe. And if he hadn't recognised him… it meant that Antonio really was just a random guy…

"Tell me, Ivan. You _really_ never met him before?" Italy asked, having a tall glass of Limoncello in his hand.

Ivan smiled innocently. "Why should I have? He looks like a nice man, by the way. A bit of a dummy, but nice nonetheless."

"And you are sure…?" He didn't doubt Braginski, but some part of him almost didn't want to believe him.

"…Дa. Absolutely." The Russian lightly touched his shoulder, moving it as if it felt itchy. He then looked into another direction. "Oh, Yao's looking for you, I think…" he said absentmindedly, pointing with his finger.

Italy released a sigh of relief he didn't know he had been holding. He downed the Limoncello in one single gulp and slammed the glass on the table.

Antonio wasn't _one of them_.

"Well, let's get this fucking over with." He stood up and headed in the Chinese man's direction.

He didn't notice Ivan carefully watching him walking away, a toothless smile on his lips.

* * *

**Holy shit, this was intense.**

**I hope you liked it! I wish you all a fantastic day, until next chapter! ;D  
**

**...**

_**Lort : **(danish) Shit._

**_Привет : _**_(russian) Hello._

**_Mein Gott : _**_(german) My God._

**_Limoncello :_**_ Limoncello is a lemon liqueur produced mostly in south Italy, and it is the second most popular liqueur in Italy. Alcoholic content, between 28-32%_


	16. Plotting

**Ciao everybody!**

**I am back again, home sweet home...! But that also means school is about to start, ARGH! In a few days I'll begin again, *groan***

**I just love fanfiction. Don't you? I mean, writing this story forces me to do research about things I never knew about: ****_history_****, years around 1960 until 1980 (my school program arrives until Hiroshima and Nagasaki, 1945...!),****_ medicine_**** (how a bullet wound is, where it can result not mortal and how surgeons treat it) ****_english_**** (I am not english, this really helps me!) other ****_languages_**** (this is Hetalia, after all) and now even ****_chemistry_**** (EXPLOSIVES!). I simply hope nothing results boring to you people ;)**

**But hey, I'm procrastinating this chapter! **

**Please sit back, und ENJOY!**

* * *

A boy was running through a busy market during a sunny afternoon.

"_Halt!_" A soldier ordered, while chasing the boy. Yet, somehow, his voice echoed, as if coming through a tunnel. What was happening? Why were his legs so short, his hands so small? Had he returned child again?!

"_Stop! Thief! Somebody stop him!_"

The boy hastily glanced over his shoulder to see the two soldiers chasing him between the crowded market. He passed through people's legs easily, adults barely sparing a glance for him. He took a turn and ran in an alley, bare feet slapping against the stone pavement.

"_Stop!_" the soldier shouted again.

The boy noticed a stack of crates and barrels not too far away, and saw his salvation. He jumped in between them and hid, clutching something small to his chest with tiny dirty hands.

He held his breath as the soldiers rushed past him, thinking he had continued running. He breathed again when he didn't hear their steps anymore.

He didn't blame the soldiers for chasing him. They were only doing their job, this neighbourhood was full of bad people that did bad things… But General Franco's soldiers didn't see a difference between them. Getting caught after stealing something meant a beating, not only if you were one of those men making the neighbourhood miserable, but also if you were a little child, a woman or an old man, victims of the former ones.

Squeezed between two barrels, the boy licked his lips staring at his prize of that day. A wonderful round, green, apple. He hungrily dug his teeth into the fruit, enjoying its flavour.

…

Nobody knew where he had come from. No one knew his mother, or father, or if he had any relatives. He had just… appeared, one day. And lived in the streets ever since.

He had only one person he could call his friend or father, and that was the old painter Carriedo. The friendly old man tried to act a bit like a father to him. He would sometimes try to teach the boy reading and writing, but he was often confused himself if what he had written in the dirt was an E or an F. They would simply laugh and rub the dirt away, and try again. The man had also had served his time as a soldier during the Great War, and had fought together with an Englishman; so, he taught the boy the little English he knew. "_One day it will be useful to you, trust me._" Was what the man would say whenever the boy asked what it all was for.

Sometimes a rich man would really like one of his paintings, and would buy it with real paper money, not the coins Antonio occasionally managed to steal from the pockets of people that weren't careful enough. In those few times it happened, old man Carriedo would bring him to see a _movie_.

The boy was always so grateful for the old man.

"_Why do you do this for me?_" He asked, looking up at the painter sitting beside him.

The man laughed and patted his head like a father. "_Because the simple look in your eyes pays me back tenfold any money in the world._"

The boy looked at the black and white police officer moving on the canvas. It was an exciting film, full of car chases, thieves and policemen. "_One day, I'll be like him!_" Standing up in his seat, he pointed at the protagonist of the movie, a detective, eyes shining with excitement. "_I'll be a good guy and catch bad people! So no bad guys will hurt you anymore!_"

Old man Carriedo missed a lot of teeth and walked with a limp, the latter a reminder of a grenade of the Great War. He wasn't strong, so he was easily picked on by the mean people that lived on the streets with them. The man smiled fondly. "_It's impossible, little guy._" The boy was about to reply something, when the old painter added, "_But I'm sure that one day you will, Antonio._"

…

The old painter had died. He had been beaten by bad people, and they had broken his arm. The wound had healed badly, and the man had been getting weaker every day. On one morning, he simply stopped breathing while looking at the dawn. The boy had sat beside him the whole night, eyes puffy because of the tears.

Determination dawned and burned in his chest like a fire.  
He would become a detective, whatever the costs. He would catch the bad guys that controlled their neighbourhood, so no one else would be hurt by them.

The barely ten year-old boy took up the surnames of the painter.

From that day on, his name was Antonio Fernandez Carriedo.

…

He was walking though the market again. He had stolen a tomato, and he was kind of proud that he hadn't been caught. However he also felt guilty, because he knew that stealing was what bad people did. But… but he wasn't bad…! Just hungry…

Suddenly, he saw three tall boys picking on a fourth, much smaller than them. The three older boys formed a triangle, and were pushing the fourth between them like some kind of ball. They were picking on him, shouting cruel names. The boy in the middle then suddenly tripped and fell, and the bullies prepared themselves to kick him.

He immediately knew what to do. He ran towards the bad bullies, ready to stop them. He noticed he wasn't the only one, another boy was approaching fast as well.

He pushed with one shoulder one of the bullies away, entering the circle and raising his clenched little fists, ready to defend himself and the fallen boy. The other boy that had chosen to intervene mimicked his action, shoving one of the bullies aside, and taking a defensive stance as well, their backs against each other.

The bullies were bigger and older than them, probably already thirteen years old. They put up quite a fight, and not one single adult tried to stop them. After a couple of minutes however, the bullies ran away crying for their mommies.

He puffed out his chest proudly, ignoring the bleeding lip and aching cheek. They had stopped them! Well, of course Antonio knew and had used a few dirty tricks, but he thought he was kind of allowed to use them since it was three thirteen year-olds against two ten year-olds.

"_Oww…_" he heard from behind him. The other boy that had intervened rubbed his knee. Only now he noticed…he looked strange, his skin was incredibly pale, and why was his hair so white? Didn't only old people have white hair? …Was he sick?

"_So nicht toll_…" The boy muttered in a strange language, standing up wincing.

He felt a little scared of the boy, his eyes were _red_. Monsters, devils and demons had red eyes… but this boy had helped him! "_H-hello! My name is Antonio… thank you!_" he said, ignoring the initial fear.

The strange white boy tilted his head to one side. "_Ich verstehe nicht…_" again, he talked in that strange language. He obviously couldn't speak or understand Spanish.

Antonio pointed at himself. "_Antonio!_"

The white boy seemed to understand, and he puffed out his chest proudly, pointing to himself and grinning. "_Gilbert!_"

Gilbert didn't look older than him, he was probably the same age, though he obviously looked much better. Well-fed, with round cheeks, good clothes and _shoes_.

"_A little help here_…_s'il vous plaît?_"  
Antonio had almost forgotten the bullied kid. He looked down, and was fairly confused. He was wearing clothes of a boy, but his blonde hair was long, like a girl's…! No doubt one of the reasons why the bullies had picked on him.

He held out his hand, and the long-haired boy stood up, dusting his clothes off. His clothes looked very fancy and kind of expensive, his little hands were rosy and soft, unlike Antonio's. And of course, he also wore shoes. He had a small bruise on his cheek, but for the rest he looked okay.

The boy presented himself as well. "_Francis! Merci beaucoup!_"

Somehow, they started communicating, and it immediately clicked. They became the strangest trio of best friends. The words and phrases they communicated with was a bizarre mix of German, French, Spanish and English, as Antonio would discover months later. Once the other two noticed Antonio didn't have any shoes, they simply chucked their own away, and the three of them spent the afternoon scurrying bare-footed through the market and playing pranks on random people.

…

Gilbert was there on holiday with his father, who had an important job of some sort. Francis's family had just moved into a house on the outskirts of Madrid.

While Gilbert looked pretty normal, and Antonio knew that he himself looked poor, Francis looked like some kind of _prince_. Not on purpose, of course, it's not as if he strolled around with a crown on his head; but one simple glance at his hands, at his hair and clothes told Antonio that he had much money and that he had never been hungry. Somehow, he hadn't become a spoiled brat, something Antonio had seen quite often in the busy market. Actually, it seemed Francis didn't even like all those riches, because in fact the rich clothes lasted only one single day. The day after the bullies, the three of them met again, and Francis wore normal clothes, and kept wearing them for all the days that followed. Gilbert also kept showing up in the same clothes day after day, and in no time, you couldn't tell the difference between the three as they scurried, bare-footed and dirty, through the streets of the city.

They would meet each other at the very same spot where they had fought the bullies, and every day was an adventure. When they went for the woods or countryside, everyone contributed with something. Francis brought the food, a _lot_ of food, Antonio had never seen and had never eaten so much; Antonio was their guide, since he knew Madrid and the outskirts like the back of his hand; Gilbert manufactured things like slingshots, fishing rods, swords or bows, or came up with pranks to do at every single person they came across with.

The albino particularly liked to make a wooden sword for himself as well as a makeshift shield - the lid of a metal trashcan -, and a helmet - a paper bag - and run around proclaiming loudly that he was an 'awesome Teutonic Knight', while Antonio would become a 'Conquistador', and Francis a 'Musketeer'. Antonio didn't even know precisely what those different kind of swordsmen were, but it was fun nonetheless.

Once, from an abandoned cart in the middle of the street and with the help of a couple of sheets, Gilbert had crafted some kind of ship, and they had become pirates feared all over the seven seas - until Franco's soldiers chased them down for the umpteenth time that day.

In no time they had earned a nickname from the neighbourhood, the "Bad Touch Trio".

Antonio had never felt so happy in his life like in that summer of 1960.

…

"_Wait for it…_" Gilbert whispered to the others. The three of them were lying on their bellies under a flower cart, in the middle of the market. The albino taken apart some fireworks and crafted something, and they were waiting for the newest prank to unfold itself.

"_Are you sure this will work…?_" Francis asked.

"_Are you doubting the awesome me?_" The albino grinned. He turned to look at the busy fruit stand. A couple of people were pondering if they should buy a big watermelon or not, weighing it in their hands and such. Antonio braced himself, propping himself on his elbows. He would honestly never have done that to a watermelon before, it seemed such a waste. Strange how a full stomach could change your perspective about things.

"…_Tres_…"  
"…_Du_…"

"…_Eins!_"

The watermelon burst in pieces, covering people all around in juicy red bits. Stunned, nobody moved for a couple of seconds, as they looked at the remains of the big fruit. The three boys under a flower cart had trouble not to burst into laughing out loud and were a snickering mess.

"_There they are! Little devils!_" A woman pointed at them.

"_Uh-oh…_" Gilbert snorted.

"_Busted!_" Francis gasped.  
"_Run!_" Antonio shouted.

Laughing, they ran away from the angry people covered in watermelon bits.

…

Three ten year-old boys lied in the grass, somewhere in the woods near Madrid.

"_What do you want to be when you grow up?_" Antonio asked Gilbert one day. They were sitting in the trees' shadows, their feet in a small stream. Gilbert had made fishing rods from twigs and bottle corks, which bobbed up and down in the water not too far away.

Gilbert splashed his feet in the water, looking up. "_Hmmm… I don't know, but what I do know is that it's going to be something awesome!_" he laughed his strange hissing laugh.

Antonio grinned. The albino really enjoyed that word, 'awesome'. "_Like what?_"

"_I just said I don't know, Toni! Eh… maybe, like, something with fireworks!_" Gilbert's red eyes widened, imagining the colourful display. "_Ja, that would be very awesome! I love fireworks!_"

"_But wouldn't that mean study… what do you call it, chemistry? You hate school!_" Antonio laughed, secretly a little jealous, but nonetheless happy for his friends that could go to school.

"_Who cares! As long as it means I can do something awesome, I can afford to momentarily become a nerd. But let's ask Francis. Hey Franny!_" Gilbert called out.

Francis lazily opened his eyes. He was lying in the grass with his hands behind his head a long strand of grass in his mouth, and he looked ready to fall asleep. "_Hmm…?_"

"_What do you want to be when you grow up?_" The albino asked.

Francis looked up at the leaves that rustled in the small breeze. "_I'm going to be a cook!_" He said without any hint of hesitation in his voice. He smiled, closing his eyes.

"_Bleh, really? Cooking is for girls!_" Gilbert exclaimed, wrinkling his nose. "_Francis, you're too girly! Start wearing dresses already!_"

"_Not true! Boys cook too!_" Francis defended himself. "_Well, what about you, Toni?_" he quickly changed argument.

Antonio smiled broadly, looking at his feet in the stream. His toes were just above the water level, he wiggled them. "_I'm going to be a detective!_"

…

The summer was over. Gilbert had gone back home with his father, a tall blonde man with a troubled and haunted look in his eyes. Apparently there were some troubles, back where the rest of their family lived. Gilbert mentioned he had a little brother to look after, and that that was why he had to leave. "_My little bruder is very smart, a genius actually, but kind of a dork when it comes down to relate with people. I, being the awesome big bruder I am, have to teach him some things!_" He said before leaving. And when he left, he did so with one of his trademark cocky grins and hissing laughs.

Antonio and Francis waved as the boy left. They promised to meet each other once more the next summer, in the usual place. But that never happened. Antonio regretted never asking what the albino's surname was, because he never heard of him again.

Antonio then turned sideways to look at Francis, but he also had to turn his face upwards to actually see his face. Francis was all grown up now, smiling and wearing his usual restaurant attire. But …why was he himself still a boy? And why did he smell smoke…?

He looked down and saw that Francis's feet were burning, flames licking his shiny black shoes and trousers, quickly going up. Francis didn't even seem to notice that his legs were quite literally on fire.

Antonio desperately tried to put out the flames, first with his little hands, then he tried to find something to put them out with. Some water, a blanket, a fan, _anything_. But he didn't find anything to do so. They had landed in some kind of grey place that stretched out infinitely in every direction. Grey was the sky, grey was the air and grey was the ground…

"_It's alright, Toni._" Adult Francis said, smiling reassuringly although sadly. He went down on one knee and patted his head, fire now reaching to his chest. Antonio now could distinguish what all that grey around them was: ashes. Ashes covering everything for kilometres in every direction, flakes still floating in the air.

"_No…_" he whispered, horrified.

"…_Shh, it's alright, don't worry. But you have to wake up_." Francis hushed still smiling, flames now engulfing him almost wholly. The only thing that wasn't burning yet was his face…

"_Francis, no!_" Antonio yelled, grabbing his friend's shoulders but burning his hands.

"…Wake up…" the flames had swallowed Francis completely, and his voice came from inside them. But the voice wasn't Francis's anymore, in fact, it reminded him of…

"…_Verdammnt_, Antonio! Wake up!"

* * *

Antonio shot up yelling, scaring the living daylights out of Ludwig.

The Spaniard panted, face covered in sweat, as he looked around. He was in his hotel room, Ludwig standing beside his bed.

"_Gott_, Antonio! You nearly gave me a heart attack!" Ludwig complained, clutching his chest.

Antonio swallowed, calming down already when he saw where he was. "O-oh, sorry Ludwig…" he covered his face with one hand, closing his eyes.

"What were you dreaming about? You didn't look all too happy, that's why I decided to wake you up. Nightmare?" Ludwig asked, recomposing himself and folding his arms.

Antonio shook his head, and swung his legs out of the bed. "Yes… just a nightmare." He stood up, but black dots danced in front of his vision and he fell back on the mattress again.

"Take it easy, you're still recovering." The German warned him.

Antonio blinked, not understanding. "Recovering? From what?"

Ludwig facepalmed. "Vargas's party and a nasty-looking pill."

And it all came crashing down on him again. He rubbed his head with one hand, messing up the already messed up hair. "Owwww, now I remember… but what happened, then? The last I can remember is getting out of that taxi…"

"You fainted after making two steps. Me and Delisi had to carry you to the car and drive you to the hotel. You had fainted from sheer exhaustion, and your body was still upset from the pill. At least that's what I assumed." Ludwig mechanically explained. "During the night Kirkland said that there were some gang fights between thugs in the streets of the city, most likely from rivalling mafia's. But of course nothing could be confirmed. Nothing too important, luckily. But how are you feeling?"

The Spaniard groaned. "Argh, I feel fine now, and freaking glad I'm still _alive_, but that pill… what on earth was there in it? Is it even legal to give it to humans?! I swear, I have never felt so sick in my life… Well, maybe once, but that was in London after I had eaten British food. Actually, I think the Captain may have very well made that pill himself!" Antonio chuckled.

Ludwig, despite himself, smiled a little. "That might very well be indeed. I must say I am not very fond of British cooking myself."

Antonio suddenly realized something. He gasped, and looked for his watch. Where was it? "Ludwig, what time is it?"

The blond casually looked at his watch. "Almost ten in the morning. You slept nine hours straight."  
Antonio finally found the watch with his gaze: it rested on the table of his room. He jumped on his feet and grabbed it, checking if what Ludwig was saying was correct. Indeed, almost ten.

"Oh no! I'm late!" He gasped, reaching for his shirt and throwing it over his head.

Ludwig cocked an eyebrow. "…For what, exactly?"

"I have to meet Vargas for breakfast! He didn't tell me a time, but I hope I'm not too late!" Antonio put on his shoes jumping on one foot. He headed for the door grabbing his hat and jacket.

"Wait a minute, Antonio! You have to tell me how it all went!" Ludwig complained. "Why-"

"No time! Sorry, Ludwig, later!" And he left, slamming the door.

Ludwig sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Antonio had to explain a lot of things. First, how it all had went, second, the incredibly expensive looking suit that hung on the chair, and third…

He neared the table, studying the bizarre thing he couldn't understand. Two elaborate and expensive-looking keys, and a crumpled paper note. There was a small house drawn in the corner of the note, with a stick figure smiling happily beside it. The letters that composed the short message were blockish, kind of looking sloppy, as if a child had scribbled them. And then, the most confusing thing, the message itself:

_"Have fun."_

* * *

Italy Vargas nervously tapped his cappuccino cup with a spoon. Antonio was late. Not that they had agreed a time, but still, having breakfast at ten in the morning was the limit. Well, Spaniards were notorious to be latecomers, Antonio obviously wasn't an exception.

He looked at the harbour comfortably seated at a white table.

While waiting for the idiotic Spaniard, he lost himself in his thoughts.

For instance, he was worried if the damn Kraut had seen his face. That night when his brother had been released from the hospital, the sneaky German had somehow found out about it all and been there. He bit his lip. Hmmm, he'd have to have a talk with that medic, Zwingli… But that wasn't a priority. The freaking Nazi was much more dangerous, and had to be taken care of immediately. What if he had seen him... But the police hadn't said a thing, nothing about the 'big revelation' that the infamous Moody Vargas was in fact a couple of twins. Maybe the potato-head hadn't seen him, actually it was very probable. This relaxed him a bit.

The thought of the potato-head number one brought him to the thought of the potato-head number two. The explosives expert Braginski had brought all the way from Russia. Actually, the man probably came from East Germany, probably even East Berlin.

A sly smile appeared on his features. Finding the damn nuisance's own brother had been most fortunate. He normally wouldn't do something that dangerous, eliminating a well-known detective would result into the police - and especially that damn Brit - breathing down his neck for _months_. But it would be worth it. The simple thought of it made him smile. A well-known detective from West Berlin, while investigating on a couple of twin bosses, is eliminated by his own long lost brother from East Berlin while working for those very same bosses.

It almost sounded too cruel, too dramatic. Italy's eyes narrowed. No. Nobody messed with the Vargas mafia, nobody messed with him, and especially _nobody_ messed with _his brother_.

He gripped the cappuccino cup until his knuckles turned white.

Who did the Kraut think he was, huh?! Sticking his nose in places where he shouldn't, trying to sneak his way in by using his brother, lying shamelessly to earn his _trust_, to find evidence and in the end to throw them all in jail.

He bared his teeth, biting down hard on the toothpick. As if he liked to do what he did! As if either of them liked it! God, how he hated all those detective bastards. Ignorant idiots, full of themselves, running around trying to make the world a better place where everybody laughs and picks flowers and dances under the fucking rainbow. Yeah, right. Somehow, this German detective in particular had ticked him off even more than usual. Certainly one of the reasons was because he was _German_. Who _didn't_ hate Germans anyway, after the war? Damn bunch of loony Nazi potato-eaters…

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a cheerful voice coming from his right.

"Hello…! I'm sorry if I'm late…!" Antonio was running towards the café, looking as if he had just woken up.

Italy's mood lightened up considerably. He remembered what Ivan had said. This Spaniard was just a random tourist, who by chance happened to try and befriend _him_, of all people. And little did Italy want to admit, he really enjoyed the dumb Spaniard's presence. Finally something and someone else in his life besides… his life.

"God damn it Antonio! You're late! I don't know when you have breakfast in that damn country of yours, but here later than half past ten is considered fucking _rude!_" Italy snapped at him. It wasn't true, but it kind of came out like that.

Antonio came to a halt near his table, panting and rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "I'm sorry, I just fell asleep so deep when I arrived at my hotel…! Guess it's still the fault of the kiwis…" he smiled.

Italy liked that smile. It definitely wasn't like Braginski's smile. Ivan smiled to intimidate and creep people out, most of the time succeeding; there weren't many people in the world that could say they weren't affected by his predator smile hidden behind a childish demeanour. Actually, he knew of one person that apparently wasn't affected, one of Ivan's many enemies: an American agent of some sort, obnoxious and with an ego as big as a mountain, like all Americans. He probably was just too stupid and thick-headed to be affected. Even stupider than Antonio, who back in that bathroom had indeed looked a little uncomfortable in the Russian's presence, without even knowing who he was.

But that wasn't the point. Antonio's smile was different. So carefree, so friendly, happy and _good_… It kind of reminded him of his brother.

"Just order what you want. I'm glad you didn't fucking die because of the damn kiwis. And I'm definitely not paying, serves you right for arriving late."

"But you didn't tell me a time…!" Antonio complained. He actually had a point, but Italy would never admit that.

"You'd have arrived late anyway!" He said, frowning and glaring at the harbour.

Antonio just laughed.

* * *

Fifteen minutes, two cappuccinos and two pastries later, the two were enjoying the late morning sun leaning back in their chairs.

Antonio suddenly pointed at something somewhere between the docks. "Hey, what's happening there?"

Italy frowned, craning his neck to see. Indeed, there was a small crowd gathering on one of the piers. "I have no idea." He said honestly. But he had a bad feeling about this… which was only confirmed when he saw two green cars with the white writing 'Polizia' approaching.

The Mafioso gripped the edge of the table.

_Fuck._

"Whoa, police… it looks serious…" Antonio muttered, eyeing the police cars.

_Fuck fuck fuck. Ivan, you fucking bastard. You fucking commie bastard. _Italy thought bitterly. "I think we should go, Antonio."

"But…" The Spaniard looked indecisive. Of course, he just _had_ to be curious.

"Please, I don't like this. Let's go." Italy decided to say, half lying, half honest. Actually, why did he even say 'please'? That wasn't like him. Anyway, that seemed to convince Antonio enough to stand up and leave the harbour, the Italian following. The Boss turned around just in time to see another police car approaching, the passengers being a British Captain, a Lieutenant and a German detective.

Italy bit down hard on his toothpick and broke it.

_The damn Russian always has to meddle with things, doesn't he?! _Italy fumed, and spat the broken toothpick to the ground, glaring at the last police car. But then another thought crossed his mind. _Actually, maybe I should thank him._ He cast his gaze onto his own feet, and continued walking.

As the two left, the Captain and the others hopped off the car.

"What is it this time, Delisi?" He asked his Lieutenant.

Young Delisi shook his head, discouraged. "Another executed body, Captain. Mafia work, no doubt."

* * *

Detective Ludwig Beilschmidt was walking just behind the Captain and the Lieutenant, towards the small crowd that had gathered around the newly discovered body, when suddenly, someone tugged at his jacket. Ludwig turned around, and had to look down, for the one that had tugged was a child, no older than ten.

The little boy looked up at him. "_Signor Ludwig Beilsc… Bel…scmit?_"

"_Beilschmidt, sì._" The tall German helped him. He had noticed the evident difficulty of the boy pronouncing the foreign name.

The boy nodded smiling, and stretched out a hand to him, with a small folded note. "_Un messaggio per lei…!_"

Ludwig blinked, he didn't need to know Italian to understand what the boy had said. A message? For him? He quickly fished a coin of 500 Lire from his pocket and gave it to the boy in exchange of the message. The boy merrily ran away, happy to have carried out the task.

The confused detective opened up the note, and got even more confused.

_"I want to talk to you. Meet me at the Normans' Palace at nine. It's about the one 'on the other side'. Italy."_

* * *

Antonio walked back to the hotel already somewhere around noon. Italy had some business to attend to, mostly look after the mess his villa was in after the party. At least that was what he said.

The Spaniard was very, very, very glad to have survived the party, and on top of that to have surpassed Italy's test! The Italian was trusting him more and more, and he'd probably have a more free access to the Villa from now on. Hadn't the Captain said that he'd receive some special kind of listening device one of these days? They would prove to be more than useful to get evidence out of the infamous Villa.

At the moment, though, he was more worried about the crowd at the docks. Obviously, something bad must have happened. He bit his lip. He dearly hoped it wasn't another body…

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, and tried to hum a tune to himself. He failed. Questions were raging in his head like a hurricane.

Why did he have this uneasy feeling gnawing at him from inside his chest? Why did he enjoy Italy Vargas's company even if he put a curse word in almost every sentence? Even if he was a - he shuddered - mafia Boss, a killer, a blackmailing thief? Why did he have the impression that the Boss was so lonely? What was this feeling… empathy? Was he too getting to deep into this, socializing with a criminal?  
Antonio sighed, a small smile on his lips. He was starting to sound like Ludwig at the beginning of this whole mess. Even if he acknowledged that criminals were still human - something he knew all too well, on top of the fact that grumpy Italy had a soft spot for his twin - that still didn't change the fact that they were _criminals_, and needed to be stopped…

But the Vargas mafia had turned out to be much more trickier and complicated than they had expected. The first thing being the fact that the Boss they had to hunt down was in fact a couple of twins.

Another question crossed his mind. Why hadn't Ivan told Italy who he was? What was the Russian planning - because he obviously was - and what did those keys mean?! Was it some kind of long planned revenge for the bullet in Paris, or was it something else? What did he want from him?!

_Argghhhh, too many questions! _Antonio clutched his head, sighing. In any case, he'd be informed in the afternoon by Ludwig, and they would figure it all out, he assumed. They were still two of the best detectives in Europe, working together, after all.

* * *

"So you want me to blow up a police car? Are you suicidal?" The man snorted at the Boss, grinning and shaking his head.

Italy Vargas growled, his eyes narrowing. "Well, excuse my fucking French, but you'll do as I fucking say, and no questions, Snow White. From what Ivan told me, he'd be more than happy to take you back if you happened to disobey me. He hasn't left the city yet, I could still simply shove you in his airplane and your ass would be back in the USSR before you could even say 'explosives'."

Gilbert visibly stiffened, uncomfortable and almost paler than usual. He didn't even snap back at the Mafioso for calling him that name, which apparently took a real effort. The albino man seemed to have a lot of pride and self-esteem. The Boss didn't envy him, actually he almost pitied him, for having had to work for somebody like Braginski.

"…Alright. Tell me what you want me to do." The albino said after a good minute of silence, looking resigned.

Vargas looked at the ceiling. "I'll tell you the details later. But, I want you to cooperate with one of Yao's men. Apparently, he also has an expert, who is willing to help."

The albino remained silent, even if he didn't look too happy to have a colleague, so Italy continued. "I _assume_ you'll work well together, or else. By the way, I heard you did a fucking-tastic work with the fireworks."

Gilbert shrugged. "Piece of cake. Low explosives like that are easy to handle. Because they deflagrate instead of detonating."

The Boss didn't really know the difference, but it showed that this man knew what he was doing. He quickly told him what he needed to happen, obviously omitting a few 'details'. At the end of it, "…So, how much time will you need?"

Gilbert rubbed his chin. "A normal person would need at least five days, if not a week. I, being the awesome person I am, can settle the job in two days, ha! But I'll need more details, like the car model, temperatures and such."

"Temperatures?" Italy asked. He didn't have the slightest idea of how explosives worked, since he had never hired one for precise reasons.

The albino crossed his arms, almost looking bored. "Some chemicals become unstable at temperatures above 35 °C. Up north handling explosives is not an issue, and placing a charge in a car is easy. The charges simply blow up when the engine gets hot enough, generally after 20 or 30 minutes that the motor is running. But here, with this sun and temperatures, it would go off earlier than expected and without enough control. Unless you want me to do it in the morning, or during the night at least a couple of hours after sunset, when everything has cooled off."

Italy was impressed. This man _really _knew what he was doing, Ivan hadn't lied. "I'll figure that out by tomorrow. I still have to figure out some things myself."

"Oh, and of course I'll also need certain… supplies." Gilbert warned, flexing his fingers.

Italy leaned back in his chair, looking satisfied. The Kraut would pay for what he'd done. Revenge was sweet and would be… explosively hot, to say the least.

He smirked. "Don't worry, that will not be a problem."

* * *

On the other side of a hidden door, a man looking exactly like the Boss talking to the albino is listening, brows furrowing in concentration as he strains to hear. He holds his breath, so he can not be caught by the two talking in the other room. His eyes widen when he hears exactly what his brother is planning, and quickly walks away.

* * *

**Boy, things are building up. Why do I feel like this is a filler? Laaaaaame.**

**Anyway, if you're asking yourself that, NO, the 'something' Francis mentioned on the phone still hasn't been described yet. You'll see! 8D**

**I hope you liked the chapter, see you next time! ;D**

**...**

**_General Franco's soldiers :_**_ Francisco Franco was a Spanish military leader who ruled as a dictator in Spain from 1939 until his death in 1975. He came to power during the Spanish civil war (1936-1939), and refused Hitler and Mussolini's offer to go to war with them - although he sent volunteers. __He was able to hold on to power by playing off the diverse political factions of the state against one another and through his control over the armed forces while firmly repressing enemies. _

_**So nicht toll... :**_ _(german) So not awesome..._

**_Ich verstehe nicht... :_**_ (german) I don't understand..._

**_S'il vous plaît? : _**_(french) Please?_

**_Merci beaucoup : _**_(french) Thank you very much!_

**_Verdammnt! :_**_ (german) Damn it!_

**_Signor : _**_(italian) Mister._

**_Sì :_**_ (italian) Yes._


	17. Increasing the tension

**Ciao everybody! How are you doing? :D**

**School has finally begun (which idiot makes school start on a Friday anyway? Okay, we unlucky Italians have to go Saturday as well, but still I fail to see the logic) and I don't really know whether I should be happy or not. It is my last year, that means I have to work extra hard - thus taking time away from stuff I like, like writing this story I love so much...! But of course I will do my best to have a regular uploading schedule! Actually, I am setting the weekly update on Sunday, if it is alright with you people! (yes I know today is Saturday shut up) I will do my best to be regular, but serious shit will be going down this year so I can't guarantee it, forgive me ;_;**

**Anyway, on a happier note, today I am totally feeling AWESOME because I had the chance to paraglide! It is a wonderful experience, honest. **

**Oh and of course, here's the new chapter!  
Again, as always, I hope you'll like it!  
Please sit back, und ENJOY.**

* * *

When Ludwig returned to the hotel, after asking permission from the Captain, he used alleys and the back door. It was barely four in the afternoon, yet he already looked tired, a wary look in his eyes. He knocked the Spaniard's door, knowing he was breathing heavily.

"Ludwig, that you?" he heard Antonio's muffled voice coming from the other side.  
"_Ja_, open up…please." He leaned heavily onto the wall beside the door.

The door unlocked, and the Spaniard detective appeared. "What's up, Lud- Oh God, you look terrible!" his green eyes widened as he saw his colleague.

Ludwig sighed. "Can I please come in…?"  
Antonio hastily took a step sideways and let the German inside, then locked the door behind him. Ludwig walked over to the only chair of the room, footsteps pounding heavily on the floor. He then literally collapsed on the chair, not even bothering to pull off his jacket or hat.

Antonio was really worried now, Ludwig wasn't really himself, he looked as if he had just seen a ghost. What could have happened? He asked that before sitting on the bed, facing the blond.

Ludwig leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"What happened…?" Antonio repeated.

"…Italy Vargas wants to talk to me." Ludwig stated, voice surprisingly calm, in contrast to how his eyes looked.

"Oh God. I totally forgot to tell you." Antonio groaned, slapping his forehead. He quickly told him about what the angry twin had told him, about 'Dimwit' wanting to talk to 'Fritz' again… but after the explanation, Ludwig shook his head.

"No, this is something else. I mean, it can be possible that what you say is true, actually I don't doubt it, but… look at _this_." He took out a note from his pocket and handed it over to the Spaniard.

Antonio's brows furrowed in confusion as he looked at it. "It's yellow." He stated.

"Thank you very much Antonio, how cunning. Now turn the damn note and read it before I shove your own shoes down your throat." Ludwig growled exasperated.

The Spaniard laughed awkwardly. He was only trying to lighten up the mood, no need to be so scary! He turned the paper note – which was indeed yellow – and read it. "_'It's about the one on the other side'_…? What is that supposed to mean?"

"He refers to… to my brother. Let's just say that… he found himself in the wrong patch of land when the soviets decided to declare war against the rest of the world." Ludwig sighed.

"So East Germany. But… what, and actually _why_ does Italy want to tell you?" The Spaniard asked.  
"How am I supposed to know?!" Ludwig snarled, before apologizing. "I'm sorry, Antonio, I didn't mean that. It's just… I haven't seen or heard of him in fourteen years. _Fourteen_. The last time I saw him I was only nine." He closed his eyes. "I can barely even remember his face."

Antonio's gaze softened. He remembered his old friend Gilbert. The reason why he hadn't come back that next summer, in 1961… was because things started going bad in Germany. He probably ended up on the wrong side as well. Never heard of him since. Knowing him, he would probably still be alive, in that cold hell up north, but soviets weren't people you really wanted to mess with.

"So you think Italy has maybe contacted him? Seen him? Could he be here?" Antonio suggested.

"I have no idea. And actually, like you said, why would he even tell me? He knows who I am already. That I lied to him. Why would _he_ tell the truth?" Ludwig clutched his head, eyes wide. "Yes, that… that's probably it…! It's all just a lie. Some sort of twisted plan to take me out…" Not that he wasn't used to criminals wanting him dead. But this criminal he had socialized with, even against his will…

Antonio frowned. "I'm not so sure about that. Grumpy twin wanted to hinder him talking with you at all costs. Something between the two must have happened, if Dimwit is going against the wishes of his brother."

Ludwig glanced up. "So you honestly think I should go?! That's suicide!" he exclaimed, unbelieving.

"You want to go, don't you?" Antonio smiled a little. "You want to hear what he has to say about your brother. And you admitted it yourself, you felt bad about not thanking Dimwit. This could be your chance."  
Ludwig let his head hang. "This all stinks, Antonio. It reeks of trap from miles away."

"Dimwit freaking took a bullet for you, that is a fact, right? Why would he want to eliminate you now? As I told you, Grumpy twin wasn't all too happy of how Dimwit was behaving… I think you should go." Antonio said, folding his arms. "And of course, not alone. I'll be watching from a distance, ready to intervene _if_ anything goes wrong." He smiled reassuringly.

The blond looked up again. It took him a couple of seconds to answer. "Thank you, Antonio. I really appreciate this." He closed his eyes, seemingly completely calm now. "This case is getting too personal, damn it. But we have something more important to figure out right now."

Antonio cocked his head to one side. "Like what?"  
"First, you have to tell me what happened at that party. Then, you need to tell me what the keys and _this_ mean." Ludwig grabbed the note that lied beside the keys, and gave it to the Spaniard. "It says _'Have fun'_. I hope you can explain this to me."

Antonio looked at the note as if it were infected. "It was in my pocket?"  
The German nodded. "With the keys."  
The Spaniard told him as quickly as he could what had happened that night. At the end of the story, the blond was staring at him with eyes as wide as saucers.  
"…Antonio, you… you must be the luckiest man on the Earth! You met Vargas, Khøler, Oxestierna, Bondevik and _Braginski _all during one night, and you _survived_?!"

Antonio blinked. "I don't know who this Khøler you're talking about is, or the other names…"  
"Khøler! Mathias Khøler! The Danish Viking! You don't know about him…?" a single sweat drop rolled down Ludwig's brow as the Nordic Mafia's files flashed in front of his eyes. He repeated what they said mechanically. "Berwald Oxestierna, known as the Giant, Boss over Sweden; difficult to predict; even if he looks all muscle, he has a cunning mind; usually terrifies everyone simply with his gaze. Lukas Bondevik, known as the Magician, Boss of Norway; had the hobby of playing magic tricks, now he has taken it all to a new level, precticing hypnosis and strange rites nobody really wants to know of. Emil Steilsson, just appeared, Boss over Iceland; not much yet is known, except that he likes the local birds called 'Puffins'. Mathias Khøler, known as the Viking, leader of the group, Boss that controls both Denmark and Finland; heavy beer drinker, doesn't look too dangerous but it is a fact that he likes to execute enemies with an ancient battle-axe he probably stole from a museum."

The Spaniard tensed up when he heard the German's ranting. "You are kidding me, r-right…?" He laughed shakily, remembering the trio he had met. Mathias had seemed like such a nice person!

"No, I am not. That's why I'm saying you must be the luckiest man on this Earth, to have survived getting close to those utterly dangerous men." Ludwig stated.

Antonio's right hand started shaking again, he noticed while he glanced at the note Ivan had tucked in his pocket. He had looked Death straight in the eyes and it had ignored him, passing by. He must really have been born under a lucky star of some sort.

He glanced down and glared at the piece of paper, especially at the smiling stick figure. What did he mean, have fun?! "Let's focus on the keys now. I don't really understand what Braginski wants from me, why he didn't tell Grumpy who I am, or why he gave me those. What kind of keys are they anyway?"

Ludwig picked up one the two keys. This one was made of brass, long almost as his palm. There was one simple white – and kind of fake looking - jewel decorating the handle of it, along with some simple swirls as decorations. "This one doesn't really look that important. A brass key. Big-sized. Meant for fairly-sized locks, like doors or wardrobes, or chests. I think the jewel is fake, it must be only a decoration." He twirled the key in front of their faces. Antonio noticed something at the base of the handle.

"Wait, give me a second!" He whispered, not really sure why. He took the key from the German's fingers and had a closer look. "There are two letters engraved here…!" He said enthusiastically. "Very fancy letters, but also veeeeeery tiny. Can't read them!" he then exclaimed.

"Could I try?" Ludwig calmly asked, completely composed now. Antonio quickly gave him the key back. "Hmm… Very tiny and with fancy swirls indeed… but I think that the letters are a V and an…O."

"You sure?" Antonio asked, noticing a small hesitation in the other's voice.  
"Wait… no, not an O. VD. It says VD." The German corrected himself.

"Let's just see if the other key makes any sense." Antonio sighed, he didn't have the faintest idea of what VD could be. So he grabbed the other key.

This one looked much more elegant. It was made out of silver and looked kind of old-fashioned, and was just smaller than Antonio's middle finger. The handle was adorned with many small red gems, the metal swirling around them in elegant curls. The end that turned in the keyhole looked also very, very complicated. "Whoa, tiny. And it looks precious." He commented.

"Something precious that must lead to something precious. It opens a very small and complicated lock, apparently. A small chest, a carillon, a casket, a case of some sort, maybe…" Ludwig added, eyes narrowing as he stared at the key. "No letters?" He asked.

Antonio looked at the key from all angles. "Nope. Nothing on this one. By the way, this thing looks so fancy it could…" was he going to say something stupid, he asked himself. "It could almost be worn around the neck."

Ludwig blinked, and looked closer. He pointed out a spot on the handle, where the many swirls cast around the gems made small holes. "Here. Look. It seems you're right, this part looks more polished. A small twine, or cord, the tiniest of chains was here. Someone wore it around his neck not too long ago. And if it indeed guards something precious, all the more reason to carry it around with you somewhere close, ergo, around the neck."

"Why would Braginski give me a key he wore!?" Antonio exclaimed, sounding disgusted.  
"Not him, of course. Someone else wore it." Ludwig thought he was stating the obvious and almost facepalmed.

"But I still don't get it… what do these keys open? Where? Do they open something here, somewhere in Italy or in the USSR?!" Antonio exclaimed.

Neither could answer, and they settled simply on glaring at the keys. Which remained silent, as if mocking them for their ignorance.

While looking at the brass one, Antonio's mind slowly drifted away. He was kind of getting hungry again, what would he give to have another bite of those delicious cannoli… Despite himself and the situation, his thoughts started circling around the buffet table of Vargas' party. Food everywhere, people dancing, drinking, waiters walking around with drinks or small treats…

Wait a second. He remembered one of the waiters not having a tray of any kind. Instead, between his gloved fingers…

His eyes widened.

VD.

"No way…" He looked at the key, eyes wide with something that Ludwig could identify as fear.

"What is it?" The German asked, concerned.  
Antonio shook his head, staring at the key still. "No way, no way…!"

Ludwig sighed. "Stop being so melodramatic and tell me what you realized."  
The Spaniard took a deep breath, and his voice cam out barely more than a whisper.

"VD, Ludwig. Villa Dante." He then grabbed Ivan's note, which now made perfect sense, and showed it to Ludwig. _'Have fun'_.

* * *

The Captain sighed, while settling himself on the passenger seat of the car. He blinked, when he noticed that the wheel was in front of him.

"Ahem, Captain." Delisi coughed, standing outside the vehicle.

Arthur shook his head. "Ah, forgive me, Delisi. Old habits." He stood up and exited the vehicle.

"I'll never understand why you Englishmen drive left. Or why you don't use metric system. It's so inconvenient!" The Lieutenant sighed, taking place behind the wheel, while the Brit walked around and seated himself on the passenger seat. The right one, this time. Arthur sighed himself. He would never be able to drive right, so he always went in the car with the Lieutenant.

Delisi turned the keys, the car roared to life, coughed and then died. "_Ma che diavolo...?_" The Lieutenant muttered, turning the keys again. The scene repeated itself. The engine came to life, coughed once and then died.

"What's the problem, Delisi?" the Captain asked, actually kind of smugly. At least he wasn't the only one making a poor figure that day.

"Something's wrong with the engine…" The Lieutenant muttered, slamming a hand on the wheel.

Arthur looked out of the window, and saw two other policemen approaching him. "What the bloody hell is happening?!"

He wasn't in the best of moods today, he had to admit.

First the drowned body. Second, Beilschmidt leaving with an ashen face. Then, of course, the lack of any evidence around the body. Fourth, something about how the victim had died that didn't convince him. Now, the car not working and…

"Captain! All our engines are down!" one of the policeman said once he was near him. Three police units, not able to function.

"Bollocks." Arthur gritted his teeth. Certainly this had to be a joke of some sort. Or maybe…some dirty trick. Damn that Vargas.

"Call the central. We need someone to pick us up." He ordered, pointing to the nearest public telephone. They were at the damn harbour, and he had no intention or whatsoever to walk back to the police station.

Five minutes later, another policeman ran to the Captain, who was leaning against the side of his police car.

"You better give me good news." Arthur growled, arms folded.

The man shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir. But it appears that all units are down, sir. Not a single police car is working in Palermo."

"Bollocks!" The Brit exclaimed. "That's not possible!"

The man took a step back. "I am very sorry Captain, but it's the truth…"  
Arthur slammed his fist onto the roof of the car. Not only was the Boss controlling this city, now he – they - also _publicly_ mocked him and the whole police force!

He roared. "_Damn you, Vargas!_"

* * *

Not too far away, a man with Asiatic features heard the Captain's frustrated roar. The small man adjusted on his back the rucksack full of mechanical tools – full also of certain motor parts coming from certain numerous police cars.

He hurried and reached an open café after half an hour of walking. Two tall and broad men clad in dark suits tried to block his way, but a voice stopped them.

"At ease, bastards. Let him through."

The Asian man quickly passed in between the two bodyguards, and faced the table at which two men were seated.

One was Italy Vargas, with his everlasting toothpick in his mouth. "Did I hear right? One of my men said that you did an excellent job. The Captain looked ready to strangle somebody. Shame I wasn't there to see it." Vargas sneered.

The mechanic nodded curtly, bowing a little to his superiors. His backpack tinkled faintly, despite the fact that he had wrapped every single motor element in a piece of cloth. "_Hai._ If I may humbly affirm it, I fully executed what was requested."

"Ahyah, Kiku, you are too formal…" The young Chinese Boss sighed, rubbing his forehead, seated opposite of Vargas. His long black hair was tied in a loose low ponytail that rested on the crook of his neck, but some strands had freed themselves and now hung in front of his face. He wasn't really tall, smaller than Italy but taller than the mechanic. He was dressed in a bright coloured suit, a colour somewhere between red and orange, with golden seams decorating the sleeves. He wore black sunglasses with yellow shades – not really useful against the unmerciful sun, but very 'a la mode'.

"What have you done precisely…?" Vargas asked the Asiatic henchman.

Kiku straightened up his back. "Like you asked, I rendered all their cars useless by taking away little pieces here and there, and with every car I took something different. It will take some time before any other mechanic notices what is wrong, and they will have to check every single car singularly and very carefully. Only in one car I made it almost obvious, like you asked."  
"_Fantastico, cazzo!_ Thank you, Yao." Vargas looked pleased.

"No problem, Italy. We are comrades and colleagues, after all." Yao laughed. Vargas bit on his toothpick. He always forgot that China was communist as well. "You said you need Tao for another couple of days, am I right? For something special as well, I presume?" the Chinese continued. "I always knew you had an repulsion for explosives."

Italy nodded, remembering the Asian explosives expert. "Exactly. Very special indeed." He couldn't help but smile. Everything was going smoothly. Soon nothing would be left of the damn Kraut but pieces so small they would need to be gathered with a broom off the street.

* * *

"…What?" The Asian man's bushy brows furrowed.

"Yeah, I know. It's crazy, am I right?" The albino sighed, leaning back in the chair seated by the worktable. On it there were scattered all sorts of things, going from pliers to tape, from electric wires to various jars and bowls with mysterious powders and liquids.

"It is nearly impossible. Whoever asked you to _do_ this is crazy." The Asian man answered with a flat, near-emotionless voice, shaking his head.

Gilbert smirked devilishly. "Well, because you have never met me. The awesome me can do it, even if I admit it is a bit tricky."

"Blowing off a car without hurting the driver is impossible! He's practically centimetres from the engine!" The other protested. "Why even bother? Blow up the whole thing and tell it's been an accident, it would spare us a lot of headaches."

"No way I'm backing down from this. And the new Boss would bite my head off if I hurt the driver. Apparently, he absolutely doesn't want him to be hurt, no idea why." The albino grinned, crossing his arms. "Let me tell you, I managed to do it before. It wasn't intentional, but I remember how it went. The bomb will not be positioned in the engine, but attached _under_ it. With a minor explosion, a primary one, the big thing would fall. Then, it would go off, a split second later, under the passenger's seat, leaving the driver unscathed."

The other man looked pensive. He narrowed his eyes. "I highly advise against a primary charge, even if small. Too sensitive."

"That's just it! As soon as the motor is hot enough, it will set off and snap whatever is keeping the second charge in place. Which will be a secondary explosive, by the way." Gilbert smirked triumphantly.

The other nodded, convinced. "Sounds less crazy already. From there it is simple to organize the blast so that it faces the back of the car…"

Gilbert shrugged. "Whoever pissed off Vargas must have fucked things up big time. I really don't envy the guy. Well, whatever. Could you pass me that tape?"

* * *

Ludwig swallowed thickly, loosening the collar of his jacket a little around his neck.

Oh God, he had never been so nervous.

He glanced at his watch, and then around himself. It was ten before nine, he was standing just beside the entrance of the Normans' palace and he knew that Antonio must be keeping an eye on him from a distance.

Why was he even doing this…?! it was too risky, it looked like a trap whichever way you looked at it! And it was quickly getting darker already as well. But… he closed his eyes. Gilbert. He was here to have news of Gilbert. For the first time in fourteen years. He wasn't dead, then, right? Or was Italy just going to tell him that he had found him in a soviet morgue list?!

Somewhere, a bell struck nine. The sky was a strange shade of violet mixed with purple, shadows already darker than ink and less people on the streets.

Suddenly, someone whispered from somewhere behind him, startling him.

"Psst!"

Ludwig took a deep breath, and turned around.

Italy 'Dimwit' Vargas stood a few metres from him, concealed partially by the shadows. He weakly smiled, looking like a small dog in front of a German Mastiff. Intimidated, and hoping for the bigger dog – man in this case – to be in a good mood.

"Hi, Fri-… Ludwig." He muttered, uncertain.

The German swallowed thickly. Without a doubt, there would be at least a couple of bodyguards for the Italian, or maybe to kidnap him. What if Antonio reacted too late?! He felt the Walther P5 pressing against his side, as if to remind him that it was there if things got ugly.

He decided to push all these thoughts aside and focus on the matter at hand.

The 'one on the other side'.

"…Hello, Italy."

* * *

Italy Vargas, slumped deep in a comfortable armchair, lazily glanced at his watch. Something before nine. Usually, his brother would be around harassing him for something…

"Hey, do you know where my brother is?" Italy asked one of his most trusted men, one of those who knew the truth about them.

The man blinked, surprised. "Didn't he tell you? He went out ten minutes ago, said he had something to do…"

"What!?" Italy snarled, facing his henchman. "Why wouldn't he tell me? It's not his turn, there's nothing-…. Wait, where did he go exactly, and with who?"  
"He went out with Pencil and Bucket…" Italy rolled his eyes at the nicknames his twin would sometimes give to their henchmen, "…and said he had something important to do."  
"You didn't tell me where he went, dumbass." Vargas growled.

"_Al Palazzo dei Normanni…_" The man answered hesitantly, not really knowing if he should be saying that.

There was a brief moment of silence. Then, it exploded.

"_WHAT!? _That fucking _MORON!_" The Boss stood up immediately. "Don't just standthere, we have to stop him before it's too fucking late!"

_What the hell are you doing, _was what the Boss was thinking while jumping in a car. And this feeling deep in his chest, that was scratching at his heart... he had felt it other times, yes, but never, ever from his own brother.

And it hurt more than ever.

Betrayal.

* * *

**Intensssseeee and building up.**

**Why does it feel like a filler agaaaaaain?! AAAARGH! Next chapter is one I've been looking forward to, so breace yourselves. *insert evil maniacal laugh here***

**I hope you liked it, I wish you all a wonderful weekend!  
See you next chapter!**

**...**

_**Ma che diavolo...? : **__(italian) What the hell...? (lit. what the devil)_

**_Hai :_**_ (japanese) Yes._

**_Fantastico, cazzo! :_**_ (italian) Fuck, fantastic!_

**_Primary explosive : _**_A primary explosive is an explosive that is extremely sensitive to stimuli such as impact, friction, heat, etc. A relatively small amount of energy is required for initiation. Primary explosives are often used in detonators or to trigger larger charges of less sensitive secondary explosives. A small quantity, usually milligrams, is sufficient to initiate a larger charge of explosive that is usually safer to handle._

**_Secondary explosive : _**_A secondary explosive is less sensitive than a primary explosive and requires substantially more energy to be initiated. Because they are less sensitive they are usable in a wider variety of applications and are safer to handle and store. Secondary explosives are used in larger quantities in an explosive train and are usually initiated by a smaller quantity of a primary explosive._

**_Al Palazzo dei Normanni : _**_(italian) At the Normans' Palace._


	18. Time is ticking, and not only that

**Ciao everybody! It's Sunday! I survived my first school week (albeit gaining a freaking COLD *sneezes*)! And how are you?**

**(To Random Person: Yes, "Ciao" is used both when saying 'hello' and 'goodbye'! It is however never used when picking up the phone, because we then use "Pronto" ;P)**

**Whoa, I am really proud of my title this time U_U Please take a second to look at it! Done? OHKAY! 8D**

**Hmmm, I think I wanted to tell you all something, but as usual, I forgot.**

**...**

**Oh well!  
Please sit back, und ENJOY...**

* * *

"…Hello, Italy." Ludwig said.

The Italian awkwardly looked away, but the German could see he was anxious. He was wringing his hands together, and shifting his weight from one foot to another. Yes, this was definitely awkward.

He opened his mouth to speak. Before anything else, though…

"Before anything you want to say… I wanted to thank you. For that bullet." Ludwig muttered looking at his own shoes.

When he glanced up, Italy looked surprised, to say the least. "I… I don't…"

Ludwig shook his head. "And I'm sorry to have lied to you. But the first time we met, I wasn't, I swear. I really didn't know you. From the second time tough, I did." What was he doing!? Apologizing for doing his damn _job?!_ This was getting crazier by the minute! He closed his eyes, sighing and just wishing for his brain to shut up for thirty seconds.

"It's…It's okay. I know why you did it, you were only doing your job." Italy softly said, eyes half-lidded. "I'm just a little bit sad… that you are what you are."

The blond took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. "I am sad as well. That someone so nice like you could be… well, what _you_ are."

"…A monster, huh?" Italy said looking away. It was barely more than a whisper, but Ludwig had heard it.

Ludwig took a step forward towards the Italian. "…I don't understand. Why do you do this? You clearly hate it…! Come with me, to the police, I swear I'll do my best to tell the lawyers that-"

"_No._ Stop, please, I can't… can't just… It's not possible." Italy interrupted him, looking him right in the eyes.

"Why…?!" Ludwig whispered. Fuck being professional, he felt like he was talking to a friend. Yes, damn brain, _friend_. Like it or not, his first friend in years turned out to be a mafia Boss. And having that feeling, that a friend was doing something that made him so miserable, made him feel bad himself. He wanted to stop this. "... I can help-"

"I am sorry Ludwig, but you can't. Just… stop it. We don't have much time, I just wanted to tell you something important." Italy said, suddenly looking even more anxious.

"The one on the other side…" Ludwig whispered.

Italy nodded eagerly. "Your brother. Gilbert Beilschmidt."

"What is it?" The German found it difficult to use his voice.

"Som-…I found him. He's here, in Palermo."  
Ludwig felt as if his legs had suddenly turned into jelly. He felt incredibly light-headed, as the words slowly got to him. "He's…here…"

He couldn't believe this. He had thought that Italy would tell him that his brother had died, that he had found him somewhere in the USSR, obviously dead… that he had tried to escape to West Berlin or West Germany, and that had been shot. Heck, maybe that he had found him alive. But alive, here, in the same country, on the same island, in the same _city_?! Never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined that. That wall between them had been more than physical. And not just to them. Not just to their parents, one trapped on one side while the other was waiting. Hundreds of more families had been torn apart, without any concrete possibility of seeing each other again.

Except for now. The wall was just a wall. Gilbert was here.

"Gilbert is here, he's really here, he's alive, he's _alive_…" Ludwig covered his face with one hand, not knowing what to say besides that simple thought echoing through his mind. _He's alive_. Would he even be able to recognise him? It wasn't all that difficult, he presumed. He was albino, so that thinned out a considerable amount of Earth's population. And he was cocky, self-centred, a prankster, sometimes arrogant… but he was also a good brother.

Ludwig could vaguely hear car tires screech, somewhere not too far away. A big-sized and powerful engine roaring, closing in.

"Yes, he's here. But that is the good news. There's also bad news…" Italy said, angst tainting his voice more and more every second that passed.

"Bad news? How could there possibly bad news?!" He laughed, eyes wide. "He's here… Wait, where? Where is he? Please, tell me!" he grabbed Italy's shoulders, uncaring of security anymore, mind numb.

"I-I…I can't tell you where…!" He stammered, voice sounding panicked. The Italian glanced fearfully sideways, where the car sounds were coming from. Suddenly, car headlights lit them both up. Italy was still staring at the car, without even blinking at the harsh light, but Ludwig kept his gaze onto the Italian.

"What?! No! Tell me, please!" Ludwig repeated, not wanting to believe the Boss.

"Oh no, he's here… Ludwig! Please, listen to me!" Italy exclaimed, grabbing the German's taller shoulders. "Do not use any cars while here! Never! Promise me!"

"What?!" Ludwig had to yell over the sound of the powerful engine closing in. He barely heard the Italian at all, and only vaguely registered the danger of the car heading straight towards them. What was the mad driver thinking anyway, did he want to run them over!? He was probably drunk or something. Two people were already swearing profusely at the car, having almost been run over by it.

"Promise me!" Italy shouted, suddenly freeing himself from the German's grip and pushing him away. The car turned to its right in a short loop and then headed in their direction in parallel to the Normans' Palace and them.

Ludwig almost lost his footing, it was all getting too chaotic. He staggered backwards, managing to say, "What is going-"

"Just don't, please! There's a BO-"

Italy never got to finish the sentence. Maybe he did, but the engine of the car was far too loud for Ludwig to hear it. One of the great windows of the car was open, and someone's upper body was hanging out of it, arms stretched out. Arms that intercepted Italy, scooping him up and pulling him inside the vehicle, which sped away as quickly ad it had come.

"_Sheiße!_" Ludwig swore, and took out the Walther P5 from its holster strapped under his armpit. While taking fast and resolved steps, he pointed, aimed for the wheels, and shot. The few people still around in that area shrieked and kneeled down, or started running away.  
Unfortunately, another car roared to life from the dark and put itself in between him and the fleeing vehicle. Ludwig's shots tore open the second car's tires, and the vehicle came to a halt almost immediately. Two dark shadows jumped out of it, and started running away, quickly disappearing.

The German swore again, and started running. Not after the two shadows, no doubt henchmen that had been there to protect Italy, but to get a clear shot of the first car.

He got around the car that had acted as a shield, and pointed his gun again at the red backlights of the other vehicle. He pulled the trigger, and…

…the car turned a corner.

Ludwig remained still in firing stance for a couple of seconds, before relaxing his arm and letting it fall by his side.

It had all been way too fast.

Italy had found his brother. But couldn't tell him where he was. He wanted to warn him for something, but without completely giving himself away…? Why…? He had barely heard a warning coming from the Boss, something about cars, and something else. But he was interrupted before he could finish the last sentence.

He gingerly sat down beside the car with shredded tires, a hand slicking back the few strands of hair that had gone loose. It was pointless even trying to run after the henchmen that had run away. They would be all long gone already, and they knew the alleys of Palermo like the back of their hands.

His eyes narrowed. The one that had taken 'Dimwit' Italy had probably been his twin, 'Grumpy' Italy. Dimwit had been busted telling things to _a detective_.

He swallowed thickly, knowing what the mafia usually did to traitors. Images popped up in his mind, pictures he had seen or cases he had witnessed himself. Bosses particularly liked for traitors to be caught and restrained by their henchmen, some way or another, and then execute them personally. Because the Boss would feel personally 'offended'. He shuddered. Beheaded bodies, Khøler. Strangled with only one hand, bodies blue because of the cold, Oxenstierna. Bodies beaten by a pipe in all spots that hurt, breaking bones and hitting non-vital points, prolonging the suffering until the final blow, Braginski. Bodies with wide eyes, blood trickling down their chins, with snake bites by the base of their necks, wrists or ankles, sometimes even a Komodo dragon bite, Wang.

Vargas's most favourite method was less 'physical'. Simple dumping in the harbour. Or an execution handed over to you in the form of scorching-hot lead coming from a Beretta, occasionally a machinegun if the Boss happened to be really pissed off about something.

He gulped.

But that wouldn't happen to Dimwit, right? Grumpy wouldn't kill his own brother now, would he…?

Steps of someone approaching interrupted his thoughts.

"Ludwig! What on Earth happened!?" Antonio hovered over him with a worried look, gun ready in his hand, but the targets obviously long gone. "Italy was with you one moment, and the next just…poof! Why'd that car take him?!"

"He…he got caught by his twin, I think." He whispered, looking at the place where the car had turned and disappeared.

"Oh, that sucks." Antonio muttered, discouraged, putting away his gun.

Ludwig could only agree. He didn't know how to actually say it any better. "Yes. Yes, that sucks."

* * *

"So, what news about your brother…?" Antonio asked unsure, closing the door of his room.

Ludwig found it difficult to answer. "He's… he's alive. He's here. In Palermo, I mean. Italy found him, but didn't – or maybe couldn't – tell me where. Now all I have to do is find him and-"

Antonio looked elsewhere, rubbing his head. "Gee, Ludwig, I am very happy for you. Really! But… do I have to remind you we are working on something…? A twin mafia Bosses case? Before any more drowned bodies turn up?" He swallowed thickly, remembering the crowd around the body, that very morning. Ew.

Ludwig's eyes narrowed. He was indeed sidetracking from what he was supposed to do. How unprofessional of him. "I… I know you are right. But…" He shook his head. "Damn it!" He slammed his fist on the table.

"Hey, calm down, poor table! Just… what else did he tell you?" The Spaniard asked, approaching the German slowly.

What else was there to say? …He had tried to warn him. "He tried to warn me about something. But he couldn't finish… the only thing I know I have to avoid somehow is… using cars."

"Cars? Why cars?" Antonio asked, blinking.

"No idea." Ludwig shrugged. "But hell if I'm not going to follow that advice. No cars for me for some time."  
Antonio nodded eagerly. "Absolutely. No cars! Who knows what could happen. I think Grumpy is out to get you, with a car. Maybe he blackmailed all taxi-drivers in town…" the Spaniard mused.

"I don't think it's that, but-"

Ludwig was interrupted by a phone ring. More precisely, Antonio's room phone. The sound startled both detectives, and Antonio needed a couple of seconds to recover before sprinting towards the dresser. Who would call? Kirkland, Delisi, or…

He snatched the receiver and brought it up to his ear. "Yes!?"

"_A-a-a call for you, mister Saucedo…_" A female voice muttered, trembling. The receptionist. She sounded scared.

"Yes, thank you. Let it through." Antonio said soothingly, even if he knew it wouldn't calm her down.

Some clicks, and then the other end crackled.

"_Antonio._" A snarl, nothing more.

Darn, this was the third option for the caller. Italy 'Grumpy' Vargas. A pained expression appeared on the Spaniard's face, and he motioned to Ludwig to stay quiet.

"Hello, Italy! How are you-" he sounded cheerful, as if oblivious to the pretty much obvious thunderstorm going on on the other end of the phone.

"_Taci, cazzo. I need to talk to you…_" Italy snarled, but ended the sentence muttering.

Antonio blinked. "Uh, sure… Something wrong?"  
A sigh. "…_Everything._"

Boy, that sounded dramatic.  
"Right… do I have to come over now?" The Spaniard asked, actually a bit worried. Knowing the man, he was probably drinking heavily right now.

The other end remained silent. Then, after ten agonizing seconds, "_No. Tomorrow morning… nine o'clock. Here._"  
Way to be polite. But Antonio didn't say anything. He was used to it by now, he guessed. And the man was probably drinking even more heavily than usually, because of 'Dimwit' practically betraying him… he wondered what had happened in that mansion. He eyed the brass key that rested on the table. The letters were too tiny to read from that distance, but to him it was almost as if they were burning themselves on his retina. VD. Tomorrow he'd be in Villa Dante with a freaking master key.

A chance too golden to be let go of.

"Of course, I'll be there. Don't worry."

* * *

Arthur rubbed his temples, while glaring at his cup of tea. He would really like some whiskey or scotch, but he knew how bad he was at keeping himself together after just a couple of drinks. And he had to keep calm.

First, his feet were sore. Because no freaking police car was working. Not. _One_. Not even the motorcycles! It took a whole bloody afternoon to get all the cars towed back to the station.

Second, he wasn't all convinced of this latest 'go sleep with the fishes' murder. He glanced at the murder file. The man had been beaten before being shoved into the harbour's waters. Not that the Vargas mafia didn't beat people, but they usually didn't when the victim was supposed to drown. They simply didn't bother. And the marks, the shapes of the bruises reminded him of somebody else's modus operandi.

Third, he had just received three angry calls about a madman driving through the city at idiotic speeds. Obviously, no number plate. Even more obviously, Vargas. Even more obvious than obviously, they couldn't chase the car because they didn't have a single bloody working car!

Fourth, the listening devices he had ordered had finally arrived, but he didn't have the faintest clue of when to use them. Actually, Carriedo still hadn't told him how the party had went.

Fifth, his tea had become cold.

Also, sixth, he was surrounded by idiots.

He stood up sighing, and left his office abandoning the cold tea. He looked around searching for Delisi, but didn't find him.

"Do you know where Delisi is?" He asked one of his many subordinates.

The man straightened up his back as soon as he saw who he was talking to. "Er, no…"  
"I do! He's at the garage with an army or so of mechanics. See if they can get any car to start up." another man answered for him.

Arthur thanked both of them, and headed down the stairs for the garage.

Indeed, dozens of green cars and motorcycles were lined up in the neon-lit garage. Around six cars in particular there were two mechanics each. Their heads were bowed down, trying to figure out what was wrong, but no one seemed close to success.

And still no sign of Delisi.

"Ahem. Gentlemen, do you perhaps happen to know where my Lieutenant is? Tall, dark hair, blue eyes?" Arthur politely asked in Italian.

The mechanics mostly spoke in a tight Sicilian dialect not even he could understand, so he could kiss goodbye any chances of trying to communicate in English. Luckily one or two spoke decent Italian, and told him the Lieutenant had disappeared somewhere outside.

"Maybe he's smoking." A mechanic shrugged, before turning to the engine of the Alfasud again.

Precisely in that moment, a door that lead to the outside slammed open, revealing the Lieutenant. The Captain sighed, Delisi would never learn to open a door properly, apparently.

"_Ho una buona notizia per tutti!_" The Lieutenant proclaimed with a wide grin. He stepped sideways to reveal someone behind him. "I hereby present to you: the solution to our problem!"

A petite man with Asian features stood just behind him. Short, straight, pitch-black hair framed his face, and dark brown eyes blinked as he looked around – kind of embarrassed actually.

"A Chinese ching-chong? Seriously?!" One of the mechanics snorted, stretching the skin beside his eyes so that he would have oriental-shaped eyes.

"Technically, Japanese." Delisi looked disappointed at the immaturity and rudeness of the mechanics.  
Another mechanic shrugged. "Whatever, they all look the same anyway."

Arthur shook his head. "Explain this, Delisi. _Why_ on Earth did you bring a random Japanese man here? Actually, where did you find him?"

Delisi grinned, victory shining in his eyes. "He isn't a random guy! He's a friend of some time ago. I randomly met him while strolling about – yes, it's almost unbelievable – and do you know what title he has?" He paused dramatically. The Japanese nervously fiddled with his hands, looking uncomfortable at the Lieutenant's boasting.

"Pray, tell me." The Captain sighed, resisting the urge to facepalm.

"Best freaking mechanic in whole Japan! He can definitely solve our problems!" He proclaimed, nodding towards the Japanese.

The petite man bowed a little, greeting in oriental style, looking Arthur right in the eyes. "_Konnichiwa._ Honda Kiku, pleased to meet you." He straightened up again, and then offered his right hand, western style, to the Brit.

"Captain Kirkland, pleased. It would be fantastic if you could really help us out. All our engines are down, and being a police force it is quite the hassle. The sooner you can get us out of this mess, the better." The Brit nodded, taking the hand and shaking.

"I do not have any tools right here at the moment, but I humbly ask permission to look around a bit already, so that I know what to bring tomorrow."

Arthur smiled. Nerd. A tourist bringing tools on vacation. He guessed that even the best mechanic in Japan had his tics and manias. Then again, they almost didn't have any tools there, because the Italian mechanics had been oh so thoughtful in bringing those with them and actually doing their jobs for once.

"Why of course!" he would usually never let a random stranger enter so carelessly in the station like this. But three facts pointed out that he needed to: one, they really needed those cars or all hell would break loose in a powder keg like Palermo; two, the Sicilian mechanics apparently couldn't understand what the bloody hell was wrong with the engines, he needed all the help he could get; three, the man had come with his Lieutenant, Delisi. However, he didn't trust Honda blindly, not yet. It was kind of part to his job to be wary of everyone.

"The hell? You let a freaking random guy steal our job? _Un fottutissimo muso giallo, pure!_" one of the mechanics growled, his colleagues nodding and grunting in approval.

The Captain's eyes narrowed, fixing his glare onto the mechanic and his comrades. "Yes, I did. Because apparently you are not _capable_ enough of fixing our problem. And we _need_ it to be fixed. Let the man do his job and if you dare say something that racist again, I swear I will throw you in a comfortable room with bars for a couple of nights so you can think things over a little bit." He snarled at them in Italian. Then, he smiled sweetly. "Did I make myself clear, you bunch of nitwits?"

All mechanics hastily nodded, and reluctantly made way for the newcomer.

"…You sure about this man?" Arthur whispered to his Lieutenant.

"Of course, Captain! I knew him a couple of years ago during a journey, he's a good man. And the best way to get out of this mess right now." Delisi whispered back.

"Well, I hope he knows what's he's doing." The Brit muttered to himself.

* * *

After forty-five minutes, Kiku Honda had peeked into every single car engine in the garage. Which meant more than forty green Alfa Romeo's and Alfasud's, without even counting the motorcycles. The Mechanics followed him, curious and kind of expecting the Japanese to fuck things up. Arthur simply took a chair and sat there, with the Lieutenant standing beside him.

After the tour of the cars, Kiku returned to them, the platoon of mechanics almost obediently following him. The Brit stood up.

"So? You found anything?" He asked hopeful.

"It is quite strange, I have to say I have never seen such a thing. Every engine has been sabotaged in a different way, in multiple and small, almost irrelevant, points of the motor. I definitely can't do anything about any car or motorcycle at the moment, except that one." Kiku pointed at a car. It was an Alfa Romeo Giulia, one of their fastest cars, plate number PA 2110.

"What's with that one, then?" Arthur asked, actually a bit interested, resting his chin in his palm.

"A few screws were removed here and there, nothing too important, apparently. All you need is getting nine screws and bolts and screw them back in the right places. It should be able to run like that." Kiku shrugged his shoulders. "It almost seems like your saboteur didn't have time to finish the job there."

Arthur turned to look at the mechanics, but Delisi had already ordered two of them to get the damn screws and bolts.

In a matter of minutes, the Japanese screwed the things back together. He straightened his back huffing, closed the hood, and nodded to Delisi. "Try and start it up."

Delisi complied and stepped in, turned the keys and the engine roared alive. And _stayed_ on.

Both the Lieutenant and the Captain cheered. Kiku smiled faintly, while the mechanics obviously didn't look the least happy.

The Japanese left after that, promising he'd be back the following day, to fix the other engines.

Arthur closed the garage door after – almost literally – kicking out the other rather incompetent mechanics. With Delisi following him diligently, he walked back to his office with a smile on his face, satisfied that things seemed to be taking a turn for the better. This had been a dirty trick, coming from Vargas, whatever he was up to. Another thing that needed to be added to the twins' numerous crimes. But they would solve it up quickly enough.

* * *

Later that night, the Captain returned to his home. He found the lights already turned on, but that didn't phase him. Beilschmidt always stayed up late reading books he borrowed from his library.

What did phase him was what the German told him ten minutes later.  
About how Carriedo had survived a party involving Vargas, Khøler, Oxenstierna, Bondevik, Steilsson, and _Braginski_. About the keys and the note. About one of the twins trying to contact Beilschmidt to warn him not to… go into cars?

"...And I will certainly follow his advice. I do not really want anything to happen to me." Ludwig muttered looking at his hands.

Arthur smiled reassuringly. "Do not worry, I have the perfect solution! All our cars are down presumably for the next couple of days, except one that already had got repaired. You can use that one while here for moving around, Vargas was probably referring to the taxis you usually use. I'll let Delisi drive for you, don't worry! It's a bloody police car, you'll be safe from any other car-threat hovering over your head."

* * *

_...Villa Dante..._

"Why…please, just tell me _why_."

"…"

"…Please."

"What you are doing is wrong. He's a good man-"

"Good man my ass! A detective?!"

"He _is_ a good man! He's done nothing wrong!"

"Like fuck he didn't! He tried to fuck us all, you and me included!"

"He is looking for his _brother!_ And you found him! And to do _what!? _So that they can murder each other?!"

"You never were supposed to know about this before it happened."

"This...this...! ...Please, please, don't do it! I don't want-"

"It doesn't matter! He fucking lied to you and you forgive him!?"

"Yes! Because he is my friend!"

"How many times do I have to tell you? He. Is. A. Fucking. Potato-munching. Liar! Not your friend!"

"…Maybe. But he still doesn't deserve this. Is it wrong for me to want a friend? Isn't it what you've been trying to do as well with that Spaniard?! How would you feel if he suddenly had to disappear because he 'did something wrong' or because of his job!?"

"…"

"…?"

"…I…Am I… am I not a good man, _fratello...?_"

"You are! Of course! But not if you do this!"

"...I have to."

"No, you don't!"

"…I'm sorry."

"Please, _fratello!_ Don't-!"

A door slammed shut.

* * *

_...Somewhere else, later..._

Around four in the morning, a dark silhouette looked around itself, before opening a door. The door led to outside, and four people were waiting.

One was very tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a dark suit and looking intimidating. The second had skin so fair it could be seen well even in the dark; he was carrying a heavy-looking big and kind of bulging suitcase. The third was a bit shorter than the others, with Asian features and thick eyebrows. The shortest of them all was yet another Asian, who had a small rucksack on his back.

A henchman keeping eye on things, two bomb-experts and a mechanic.

The albino smirked. "So this is it?"

The shadow that had opened the door glumly nodded.

"Well, turn the freaking lights on, will you? I'm not a cat, I can't see in the dark." The albino shrugged.

The shadow's hand went for the light switch, knowing exactly where it was and which one would turn on only a couple of neon lights and not the whole room's. Once some lights were on, he sidestepped, so that the four people could get in.

"Which is it?" The thick-browed Asian asked, looking at the many cars of the garage.

The man that before had been a shadow pointed. "…That one."

The two Asians nodded, heading straight for the vehicle. The gorilla took a few steps and then leaned against the wall, arms folded over his chest. The albino waited a couple of seconds, observing the man that had let them in.

The man locked his eyes with the albino's red-pinkish ones.

After ten seconds, the albino grinned. "So you're the driver, huh?"

The man didn't speak, but slowly nodded.

The albino laughed. A strange hissing laugh the man had never heard before. "Kesesesese! You must be feeling nervous! Ah, sucks to be you!" the albino then patted him on the shoulder. "Nah, don't worry buddy. I never make a mistake with this kind of things, you'll be safe." He then left, carrying the bulging suitcase with him towards the car.

The man's shoulder sagged, not the least reassured, as he observed the three around the car, setting up the bomb.

How horrible he felt. Not for being the driver of this whole affair, oh no.

It was deep guilt, gnawing at him from inside, at the thought of what he was doing.

The Captain would not be pleased with him, not at all.

But he didn't really have a choice, did he...?

Delisi sighed, a hand going through his hair, while his gaze was still glued to the three around the car.

An Alfa Romeo Giulia, plate number PA 2110.

* * *

**HEYYYYYYY there! Yup, the chapter ends here, shitty cliffhanger is shitty. Forgive me! Antonio will be in the Villa next chapter, and Ludwig will... well, you'll see *insert yet again another maniacal laugh here, please***

**I hope I am not dragging this out too much. Am I? ç_ç I just want everything to perfectly fit together! So I have to bring up details!**

**Oh, I think I will add the general ages of our protagonists here, as well. Remember, we are in 1975 right now! And yes, there is a reason that Ludwig is only 23 and has already finished university and all, please be patient and it will all be explained ;)**

**(Also, I just realized how shitty my grammar was in the previous chapter... Would anyone like to be my Beta? I really could use some help ^^ If you are interested, please contact me on PM or via review...!)**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I wish you all a fantastic day, and I also hope I'll see you next Sunday! ^^**

**Ciaoooo!**

**...**

**_Antonio Fernandez Carriedo_: Born, 1950. Current age, 25.**

******_Francis Bonnefoy_: Born, 1950. Current age, 25.**

**********_Gilbert Beilschmidt_: Born, 1950. Current age, 25.**

**_Ludwig Beilschmidt_: Born, 1952. Current age, 23.**

**_Arthur Kirkland_: Born, 1948. Current age, 27.**

**_Italy Vargas Twins_: Born,_ unknown_. Current age, _unknown_ - probably somewhere between 21 and 24.**

**...**

_**Sheiße! :**__ (german) Shit!_

**_Taci, cazzo. :_**_ (italian) Shut the fuck up._

**_Ho una buona notizia per tutti! : _**_(italian) I have good news for everybody!_

**_Konnichiwa : _**_(japanese) Hello._

**_Un fottutissimo muso giallo, pure! :_**_ (italian) A fuckig yellow face, as well! (NB,"fottutissimo" is superlative for 'fucking' and "muso" is literally 'snout')_

**_Dozens of green cars and motorcycles : _**_Around the '70 all Italian police units were a khaki green colour. Somewhere in 1975 they decided the police force should have a pale blue and white makeover, and it still is like this. ;)_

**_Alfasud : _**_It is a compact car manufactured in Italy from 1971 to 1989, by a new minor company owned by Alfa Romeo. The company was based in the poor region of Naples. It was considered one of Alfa Romeo's most successful models. A common nickname for the car is 'Sud._

**_Alfa Romeo Giulia : _**_It is a sports sedan. Alfa Romeo was one of the first manufacturers to put a powerful engine in a light-weight car for mainstream production - ergo, it was one of the fastest cars around normal people could afford: it could reach up to 177 Km/h!(approximately 110 mph)! Until the arrival of the Alfasud, all Alfa Romeo's models resembled this one's. A famous slogan of the time said "Giulia, the auto designed by wind"._

_**PA 2110 : **__Random plate number, except for PA: Palermo._

**_Fratello :_**_ (italian) Brother._

* * *

**_EDIT EDIT EDIT! LOOK AT ME, I AM AN EDIT!  
_**_**School has been rough lately and I had a whole SHITLOAD of tests, so I was barely able to write HALF of the new chapter! It is seriously HUGE and I don't want it to be rushed or anything because then it would suck so bad... I am so so so so so very sorry but I won't make it this Sunday! Next chapter will be up next Sunday, I am sorry for the delay!**_


	19. Laocoon

**Ciao everybody! I am so, so sorry for the delay! But things started piling up on me (life, school life, driver's licence, my birthday coming soon ETC ETC)... I'm actually thinking if I can keep up with weekly updates, because I'm not really sure I ****_can_****, so don't start flipping on me if I don't make it every week okay? :P**

**Anyway, here's the long awaited (at least I hope) chapter! It is freaking LONG and you know I hate it, but there was no other way. Hmpf! By the way, look at the title! I can already picture your faces, like "Who/What the fuck is Laocoon?!" but you'll understand by the end of it all ;P**

**Oh, and by the way, my country is run by dickheads. Enough said!**

**Onto the chapter!  
Please sit back, und ENJOY...!**

* * *

Antonio shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other.

Boy, was he nervous. The hand in his pocket fiddled with the brass key, while in the other pocket there was the silver one, plus a certain gift from the Captain.

He took a deep breath, and ringed the golden doorbell with the letters spelling 'Villa Dante' on it.

A buzz, and then a voice Antonio didn't recognize crackled. "_Chi è?_"

The Spaniard swallowed thickly, undoing the first button of his shirt. Even if it was only nine in the morning – and for once he had arrived on time – it was already getting warmer. "A-Antonio…"

Some whispering on the other side, and then, "Come in." Another buzz opened the gates.

Antonio took yet another deep breath, and stepped inside the Villa's boundaries for the second time.

His skin felt tingly, and he had the same feeling he had before the party. Would the Villa let him in another time and release him unscathed, or would the manor turn out to be a death trap? He honestly didn't know.

While walking through the park toward the villa, he remembered what they had all agreed to do together, the night prior.

The Captain had called him at the hotel, and together with Ludwig they had agreed in meeting in Antonio's hotel room. And they had come up with a plan.

The Captain for instance, immediately after he told him he had a master key of Villa Dante, pushed something small in his hands. Antonio had voiced his opinion that if it happened to be another pill he would literally sue him. The Captain had rolled his eyes. The object had turned out to be the smallest listening device he had ever seen; it could fit in his fist comfortably without being noticed.

"Just put it in a vase or plant pot or some place like that, or even throw it under a wardrobe. It also has a sticky strap, so you can attach it, say, under a table or something like that. It is amazing new technology they sent me from London- you don't even need wires or radio signals. Extraordinary," The Brit had whispered with a conspiratorial tone.

The next problem was another one: the Spaniard obviously could never be left unattended in the Villa, "…Unless someone provides a…distraction," Ludwig had muttered. "Something that would get Grumpy out of the room you're in, together with the henchmen."

"…A search warrant," Antonio had whispered.

"And the reason?" Ludwig had asked.

"…He doesn't have to know. I'll sign one of the forms we have here with a posh handwriting of some sort and it will look real. You'll show it and it will be enough," Arthur had murmured. "Enough at least to buy you some time."

"Are you _cheating?_" Antonio had gawked.

The Captain had narrowed his glinting eyes, allowing himself to smirk mischievously. "Maybe."

Ludwig would drive with the Lieutenant to the Villa in the only repaired car, together with other policemen, even if they had to go on foot. They would show the search warrant, and that would attract the attention of the majority of the people in the household; at least, they hoped so. They hoped that at least Grumpy would leave whatever conversation he was having with Antonio, so that he would be free to snoop around, place the bug, and maybe find what the silver key opened…

He shook himself out of his thoughts when he found himself staring at the Villa's green door. And even before he could knock, the door opened for him, showing a tall and lean henchman who invited him in.

Antonio hesitated a split of a second before entering in the belly of the beast. The door shut behind him, and he had the distinct and ominous feeling that getting out of there would _not_ turn out to be as easy as the previous time.

* * *

Delisi quickly checked his surroundings to see if there was anybody. Nope, nobody in sight. He went down on one knee and studied the bomb placed under the car's engine. Not much to see besides a package a bit smaller than a normal-sized suitcase, wrapped in brown paper.

He straightened up again, and conjured out from his pocket a half-litre bottle full of mysterious liquid. He opened the car's hood, unscrewed a cap in the engine and the bottle's top as well, and poured a strange blue liquid in the motor. As soon as he had finished, he screwed the cap shut again and threw away the now useless bottle. He then proceeded in closing the hood again, but not completely. The safety hook was keeping it in place, but it left a centimetre or so of space for air to pass through.

"There you go, that… that should do it. You mustn't blow up too early…" he murmured, placing a hand onto the cold hood of the car, which had to _stay_ cool as long as possible.

He heard long-stridden footsteps echoing down the stairs that led to the garage. Detective Beilschmidt would soon join him, while the other men were already walking towards their destination.

He leaned onto the hood, and covered his face with the other hand.

The German's footsteps now were going down the stairs, closing in.

Delisi suppressed a dry sob. Oh God, what in the heavens was he doing…?

* * *

Gilbert casually leaned onto his motorcycle, parked not too far away from the police station's garage exit. His target would exit probably around this time, and he'd follow him to make sure everything would go as expected. Tao – the bushy-browed bomb expert from Hong Kong – wasn't needed.

Actually, doing this increased the chances of getting caught. But he had to admit he was, maybe, a _teeny-little-bit_ vain about wanting to witness his creations blow up. So he'd follow from a distance, discreetly.

Which meant he had to wear long-sleeved leather clothes, gloves, boots and a helmet. Not only to make him less recognizable, but also because even in the early hours of the morning, sunrays would not be forgiving to him, especially in south Italy. Being albino had many awesome perks, but also many un-awesome downsides.

Needless to say, he felt as if he were sitting in a sauna. Correction, as if his arse was sitting in the hottest of Hells. He just wished his target would hurry up; he didn't have all day. Well actually, he _did_, but he'd probably melt into a puddle before the end of it if he didn't find some shade quickly.

He huffed inside his helmet; the action made a small circle of condensation appear on the visor.

"Just hurry up already…" he muttered, sweat beading his forehead. He'd definitely need a shower after this.

However, as if right on cue, the shutter he was looking at opened up, and a khaki green Alfa Romeo Giulia slowly emerged from the recesses of the garage.

"About freaking time!" he huffed, grinning, following the car with his gaze but not moving his head. To anyone looking at him from outside, it would just appear as if a confused motorcyclist were trying to decipher a map. He tried to discern the figure positioned in the backseat, so he could have a look at his target before he would be blown off this Earth.

Hm, a blondie. A large blondie. Definitely not Sicilian. He clicked his tongue, moving his gaze towards the driver. The police's very Lieutenant was helping them; what a joke.

The vehicle passed him by, and as soon as the car turned around a corner, Gilbert chucked the map in a nearby and quite conveniently-put trashcan. He then hopped on his motorcycle, turning the engine on.

He felt his hands tremble while gripping the motor's handles, following the car from a distance and using parallel alleys and such. He was being nervous- it always happened before a kill. Not because of fear, or the worry that something would go wrong; it was the uneasy feeling of literally _ending_ someone's life he would never get used to. He 'tch'd. He thought the years with the Soviets would have toughened him up a little, and indeed they had. But that uneasy feeling would never leave him.

He softly started muttering something to himself while the motor's engine was ringing in his ears; a tune, actually.

He knew it was something creepy…he guessed the un-awesome Soviet jerk Ivan had rubbed something off on him after all.

"_La, le, lu…Nur der Mann im Mond schaut zu… Wenn die kleinen Babies schlafen… Drum schlaf´ auch du…_"

Just like it had calmed his little brother when there had been storms outside, it calmed Gilbert down in a matter of seconds. It had always been his favourite lullaby. However, sung in this situation, yes, it was definitely creepy; he had to admit it himself. But it still helped.

He kept singing it to himself while following the khaki automobile with the numberplate PA 2110.

"_…La, le, lu…_"

* * *

Antonio took a moment to admire the black and white checkered tiles of the floor. He hadn't noticed it during the party- too many people and colours and _other_ worries had been in his head.

Suddenly, another henchman appeared out of nowhere, and stuck his hands immediately in the Spaniard's pockets.

"Hey!" Both Antonio and the first henchman protested. The latter gripped the second henchman's shoulders and pulled him away from the detective. They started quickly talking in Italian, unaware that the Spaniard could understand.

"_Cosa cazzo stai facendo?!_" the first henchman snarled.

"_Cosa ti sembra? Lo perquisisco!_" the second answered, bringing his hands up in defence.

"_Ma sei scemo?! Questo è l'amico del capo! Smamma prima che ti rompa le rotule, testa vuota!_" The first pointed at a door, and the second gasped before quickly walking away.

"I excuse myself in the name of my colleague. He didn't know who you were, and wanted to take the normal security measures," the first henchman explained to the wide-eyed detective.

"O-Oh, I understand. No problem at all; he just scared me a little," Antonio answered honestly. For a second he thought the man had found the listening device in his pocket. He silently thanked his lucky stars and followed the henchman again.

The henchman/butler/waiter/assassin/whatever-he-was led him up the marble staircase, to a big mahogany door on the right side. Antonio noticed with a quick eye the proportions of the keyhole. The suspicion turned into certainty, because indeed the brass key in his pocket would fit in this, and probably most of the locks in the manor.

The man knocked, and a muffled voice came from the other side.

"_Avanti._"

The man opened the door for him and held it open. Seeing as Antonio hesitated, he gave him an encouraging push- enough to get him inside- and then closed the door behind the Spaniard.

Antonio took a second to look around himself. It was a wide room, with black and white checkered tiles, finely decorated and furnished. Paintings hung on the walls, no doubt copies (actually it was highly probable there could be some originals) of famous canvases, as well as miniature copies of famous statues like the David, and there was a big replica of the Laocoon statue in a corner. Tall windows on one side let in the morning sun between cream-coloured curtains, while by the opposite wall there was a broad dark hearth. The reason why Sicilians would even need a hearth eluded Antonio. On the far end of the room there was another door that would no doubt lead further inside the mansion.

Not too far away from the empty fireplace, there was a table and a couple of comfy-looking armchairs. Flopped deeply in the cushions of one of them, sat Italy 'Grumpy' Vargas. On the carved table rested three bottles and a platter with something green on it. One of the bottles was already empty, while the other two were half-way, and Antonio noticed those were liqueurs of high alcoholic content. The green and white stuff on a platter looked like some kind of cake, but Italy hadn't touched it.

Grumpy himself looked like a wreck. Dark bags hung under his eyes, and he seemed deeply saddened, eyes cast towards the ground. His suit was all wrinkled, it was highly probable he was still dressed like the night before.

"Oh, hello…" Antonio hesitantly muttered, not knowing what else to say.

Italy didn't even look up, and a grunt was the only sign he had heard him. He then lazily motioned with a hand for him to sit down- which he did.

"You look terrible…" Antonio said, genuine concern in his voice. He didn't care that he was a mafia Boss at the moment- this man was a human _wreck_, and he couldn't bring himself not to try and console him.

A humourless chuckle escaped Italy's lips. "Ha. I know, I look like shit, right?" His voice didn't slur; Antonio would never cease to be amazed at how well he could hold down his liqueur.

"What… what happened? What do you want to talk about?" Antonio asked, leaning his elbows on his knees. "Is this about Dimwit…?" he added hesitantly.

Italy didn't move for a second, eyes glued onto the white and green cake. He then slowly nodded. "…Yes," he said glumly. He sighed. "I am actually kind of fucking glad you came, Antonio. It shows that I'm not completely alone in this world." He brought a hand around himself. "As you know, I am an… important man, and I can't afford to have many friends. Dimwit is one of those few, and you the other. But yesterday, Dimwit…" The mafia Boss paused.

Antonio swallowed thickly, waiting.

Italy continued talking. "Dimwit went against my wishes yesterday. Do you remember the man I talked to you about?"

"You mean Fritz?" Antonio knew all too well who he meant, but he acted dumb nonetheless.

A scowl appeared on Italy's face. "Exactly. The fucking _crucco_. Dimwit went to talk to him yesterday."

Antonio brought up his shoulders, looking elsewhere. "I don't see anything wrong with that, if it's only talking, I mean…"

"_Everything _is wrong with that!" Italy exclaimed, gripping the armrests of the armchair and sitting upright again. "Why do you think I don't like this 'Fritz', huh? He's a fucking liar, and Dimwit truly believes him! What he did yesterday was betraying me…"

"It means Dimwit cares for 'Fritz', isn't that right?" Antonio hesitantly said.

Italy leaned back in the armchair again. "Yes. Fucking yes. But it is not right. Dimwit also is…_has_ an important job. And to be Fritz's friend sends everything down the fucking drain. And I… no, _we_ can't make it happen. He's shooting himself in the foot!"

Antonio thought about it. Of course, Dimwit, one of the two Bosses, going to talk to a detective would send the whole mafia awry. But Dimwit had wanted to warn Ludwig about a danger… Was Grumpy planning something against Ludwig?! A sudden feeling of dread gripped his heart. Dimwit had warned him about cars, but hadn't had the chance to finish… He suddenly felt as if he had been very, very careless about something.

He had the distinct feeling Ludwig was in great danger.

He tried suggesting something, without betraying the concern he felt for his colleague's wellbeing. "Why would Dimwit go so far as… betraying you, if it means that both your positions would be compromised…?" he asked, feigning to be clueless.

Italy's nostrils flared. "I admit that I planned something so that Fritz would learn a lesson… Nothing too serious- don't make that face!" he hastily added when Antonio's eyes widened. "But Dimwit overheard it all and went to warn him. Ugh… luckily I stopped him before he was too late." Italy smiled weakly. "But now Dimwit is mad at me… Fuck."

Antonio pulled one of his most reassuring smiles. "Don't worry, I'm sure everything will be okay soon. Right? It's just a minor misunderstanding; I am sure of it."

Italy slowly blinked at him, looking very tired.

"I would never had thought I would say this, but… thank you."

A pang of guilt struck him from inside, adding to the cold feeling of dread he felt for Ludwig. Antonio had to restrain himself not to clutch his heart.

Why did he feel so torn…?

"You're… You're welcome." He smiled, internally screaming.

* * *

Gilbert was waiting for the traffic light to turn green at an intersection of some sort. Not that he'd usually do that - especially in his current circumstances – but the car he was supposed to follow was now to his left, and would pass right in front of him. So he patiently waited.

The lights to the left side of the intersection turned green, and the khaki Giulia slowly rode past him.

Gilbert got a good look at the driver- the Lieutenant, and the passenger- his target.

The Lieutenant looked tense, but not especially suspicious. If only he weren't gripping the wheel so tight that his knuckles turned white; he would simply seem nervous because of his job.

The passenger looked a bit worried, but nothing too serious. The blondie was seated at the right side of the car, so he was facing Gilbert, and the albino got a chance to examine him thoroughly.

As he had noticed before, he was blonde, and his yellow locks were slicked back with utmost accuracy, under a gray hat. A light grey suit wrapped his broad shoulders. This man must be a giant of some sort, Gilbert found himself thinking.

But then, he noticed the target's _eyes_.

They looked at him only for a moment, and then turned their gaze elsewhere. But that smallest moment struck Gilbert like lightning. And like a lightning bolt during a stormy night, it lit up all its surroundings for a split of a second.

Gilbert felt like he had had a sudden epiphany.

Red eyes wide, the albino's gaze followed the vehicle as it rode off. Why did those eyes suddenly remind him of his little brother…?

Thoughts started spinning like a hurricane in his head, so much and so fast that it almost hurt him.

The mental image he had of his brother was outdated- he knew that. What he remembered was a small nine-year-old with a dorky demeanour, who kept his blonde hair in an even more dorkier bowl cut. Big, round, baby-like sky blue eyes and small hands- his little brother who was afraid of thunderstorms.

But that was fourteen years ago. He had never really thought about it, but indeed, his brother must have grown into a full man by now.

Fear suddenly constricted his heart when he remembered what Ivan had said some years ago. He had kind of forgotten about it.

_"I lately heard that there is a young famous detective on the other side…Hmmm, did you know? His name is Beilschmidt."_

"_Mein Gott…_" he whispered, as the traffic light turned green. But he didn't move.

There must have been a reason why that man's eyes reminded him of Ludwig. But maybe, maybe it was just coincidence… then again, he knew that his target had to be someone who could piss off a mafia Boss. And whose job was that?

The detectives'.

"_Scheiße!_" he snarled, turning the motor's handle wildly and chasing the car with a desperate hope that he wasn't too late.

* * *

Grumpy sighed, but a small relieved smile played on his lips.

Antonio was about to say something, when a knock echoed through the room.

"_Capo?_" a muffled voice asked from the other side of the door.

"_Quante volte ve lo devo dire che non voglio essere disturbato?! Voglio essere lasciato in pace per dieci fottutissimi minuti!_" Italy snarled at the door, unaware that Antonio could understand Italian pretty well.

The door remained silent.

"Phew. Sorry about that. I just want a break for a moment, you know?" Grumpy said, shaking his head.

"I understand. Being you must be tough." Antonio shrugged, smiling hesitantly.

"You can bet your ass on it." Grumpy snorted. "Sorry, I was fucking rude. Would you like some cassata?" He motioned towards the white and green cake. Antonio had no idea what a 'cassata' was, but despite the colours, it looked delicious.

"Sure, why not? Thank you!"

* * *

As soon as he caught sight of the Villa's black gates, Ludwig straightened up. He reached for his pocket, and pulled out the fake search warrant.

Something like a dozen other policemen were already near the gates, and four black-suited henchmen were glaring at them from inside.

Ludwig still didn't get this extreme loyalty of the Vargas henchmen. He shrugged, and after Delisi stopped the car near the gates, he got out of the car.

The Lieutenant immediately turned off the vehicle, and then dried his brow.

From outside, Ludwig got near the driver. "Are you alright Delisi? You look a little nervous…"

Delisi immediately shook his head. "Ah, I am alright, thank you… but I am also nervous."

The German tried to smile reassuringly. "Don't worry. Nothing nasty should happen to us; the only one here really in danger is Antonio…" he whispered, glancing at the Villa. "…I just hope nothing will go wrong in there."

His brow furrowed as he glanced behind the car. He had had the feeling that someone was following them, to be more precise- a motorcyclist on a black motorbike. But it appeared that they had lost him behind a moving van of some sort. Maybe he had just been a random motorcyclist, but it was Ludwig's job to be wary and suspicious of things.

He turned towards the policemen who were nervously glancing at the gates, and then looked at the search warrant.

He took a few steps forward and rung the bell.

* * *

They were both enjoying the cassata – which Antonio discovered was a delicious cake; something he really appreciated – when someone knocked at the door again.

"_Ma porca di quella miseria…_" Italy muttered, swallowing a spoon of cassata. "_Cazzo c'è adesso!?_"

"_Capo, abbiamo bisogno di lei!_" the henchman on the other side of the door said seriously.

Italy put down the still half-full plate on the table, sighing. "God damn it, those idiots can't even tie their own shoelaces on their own. I have to go and see what they fucking want." He stood up, arching his back. "Ugh, I'll make sure to be as quick as possible. I'll be back before you know it."

Antonio nodded, a small smudge of cassata on his cheek. "Sure! Don't worry, I won't go anywhere."

Grumpy nodded, a look in his eyes that said 'you _better_ not go anywhere'. Antonio swallowed the mouthful of ice cream.

The Mafioso then left, straightening his suit's wrinkled jacket.

As soon as the door closed, the Spaniard stood up and put the plate of cassata on the table. This all meant that Ludwig was outside, showing a damn convincing search warrant. And knowing Grumpy, the Boss would never leave Antonio in his compromising home alone, even if he trusted him. Antonio could bet his shoes on the fact that three quarters of the house's doors would be locked.

The only thing Grumpy didn't know was that he had a master key of Villa Dante. He looked around himself, and then at the door Grumpy had disappeared in.

He felt another pang of guilt because of what he was about to do.

"I'm sorry," he whispered towards the door, before conjuring the key out of his suit's pocket and walking towards the door at the other end of the room. He glanced at an old-fashioned pendulum clock in the corner- barely nine fifteen. He'd have at least ten minutes for sure, because it took time to go from the mansion to the gates on foot. However, from then on, his chances of getting caught would increase exponentially. He made a mental note to himself to be as quick as possible, and if able, be in this room again when the Boss returned.

The Spaniard tried to open the door. The handle turned, but the door was locked. Antonio furrowed his brow.

He took a deep breath and examined the key. "I surely hope you work, you know," he told it, as if expecting it to answer him. Unsurprisingly, it didn't. Antonio tightened the grip on the key's handle and inserted it into the lock.

It clicked, and the door opened slightly.

"Alright, here we go, then," he muttered encouragingly to himself. He opened the door out completely and disappeared on the other side, softly shutting the it behind himself.

He found himself in a corridor that stretched out left and right around him. This kind of reminded him of the room he had sat in previously, for its walls were covered with paintings alternated with statues also. Gee, the Vargas really liked art, didn't they? He wished he had had the chance to study art history, because then he was sure he would have been really excited to see these paintings. And distracted. Wait, he was distracted now anyway. _Focus, Antonio! _he told himself, hitting his temple softly.

He glanced left and right. No henchman to be seen or heard; it seemed he was completely alone. Ludwig was doing a good job. He decided to go to the right first, and started walking.

Corridor after corridor, room after room, Antonio started to get the feeling that either he was walking in circles, or everything was extremely uninteresting. Except for one room that had turned out to be a library, he hadn't found anything out of the ordinary. Oh, and of course there would be one or two henchmen here and there, but Antonio had had enough skill to avoid them without making any sound.

He glanced at his watch- three minutes had already passed. His time was running out. He needed to find something important, whatever it was, right now!

He heard footsteps coming from behind a corner, and he bolted in the opposite direction, almost skidding on the marble floors and bumping over a fragile-looking decorative vase. He hid successfully behind a plant of some sort, but the steps went in another direction anyway. He let out a sigh of relief.

Antonio glanced sideways. Where should he go now…?

Something suddenly caught his eye- a silvery glimmer, to be more precise.

It caught his attention because most of the door handles and locks were made of brass, so something silver was out of the ordinary.

Antonio stepped out from behind the plant and neared the door prudently. As soon as he was just a few steps away, he noticed something that made him smile.

The door had _two_ locks. The door itself didn't appear any different from all the others, but the double lock alone was a big change.

He studied the locks. One was like what all of the other doors had had- the one that needed the brass VD master key. But the other one was silvery and small…

Antonio's eyes widened. "No way…" he whispered, as he fished out the smaller silver key from his pocket. He confronted the key and the keyhole. He was astonished, and honestly couldn't believe his luck. They matched…! They seriously matched!

Doubt suddenly crossed his mind. Why, why on Earth would Ivan keep him alive and give him such important keys? Unless… he held his breath, as he thought of something that had never crossed his mind before.

Unless he wanted the Vargas to be caught.

He swallowed, his gaze resting on the silver key with its shimmering rubies.

Should he do it…?

Yes he should; this was part of his job. But, with Grumpy Italy, it seemed so cruel to betray his trust right after he had been betrayed by his own twin…

He discovered he had no time to think when he heard footsteps again.

The detective gasped and put both keys in the keyholes, and turned them at the same time. The door protested, creaking slightly, and Antonio winced, looking over his shoulder. The steps had stopped for a second, and then had started running towards his direction.

_Gogogogogogogogogogooooooo!_ his brain screamed, and as soon as the door opened, he jumped inside, having enough sense to take the two keys with him and shut the door behind himself just in time.

He leaned heavily against the wooden door, listening for the footsteps which came awfully close. They stopped right on the other side, actually, and the Spaniard honestly thought he was done for.

After a couple of agonizing seconds, the steps slowly faded away.

Antonio let out a deep sigh of relief, his knees almost buckling beneath him. He had to lean even more heavily against the door to keep standing.

While he recollected himself again, he looked around to see where he was and why this place was so important for it to have two locks.

There was only a small high-up window to light up the room, but as soon as Antonio noticed where he really was, his jaw dropped.

"…_Dios mío_," he managed to whisper.

* * *

Ludwig glared at Italy as he walked towards them. He immediately knew it wasn't Dimwit, somehow. Even if they were twins, now that he knew one of the two, he just… he could distinguish them even from afar. It was strange, really.

Grumpy walked with six other henchmen, and one was holding back an aggressive looking dog- a Neapolitan Mastiff to be more precise. Ludwig knew that because he had always loved dogs, and he knew that despite the cuddly appearance due to the loose skin, this race was fearless and extremely protective of its home and family. This dog didn't like strangers, and neither did his owners, judging by their expressions.

The two parties stood by either side of the black iron gate. Policemen on one side, with straight backs and nostrils flared, and on the other side the Mafiosi, looking bored, slouches weighing their shoulders down.

Grumpy Italy looked down on the German, even if the latter towered over the former. This was actually an impressive feat, Ludwig had to admit that, because Grumpy somehow gave the impression he was actually the taller one of the two. Also, the Boss looked horrible, with dark bags under his eyes and his suit a bit ruffled.

"The fuck do you want, _Detective_," the Boss spat.

Ludwig had to remind himself that the Bosses were still convinced no one knew about their façade.

"Hello, Italy. It seems you are not in the right mood today…" Ludwig said, tilting his head to one side.

"Cut the crap, Potato. Answer my question," Grumpy snapped. "You are bothering me; I sincerely hope there is a reason behind all of this or I'll have to make a complaint to your Captain. That actually would be pretty funny- me making a completely legal complaint about the detective he sent to sneak into the fucking wrong place. I can picture his bushy-browed face already, red of pent-up rage," the Boss sneered.

Ludwig hoped Antonio was using his time damn well at the moment. They wouldn't have a second chance at this, and his patience was already wearing thin. Now that he knew one of the two better, he could notice that despite being so similar in appearance, the twins were so _different_ in their attitudes and manners; even the looks in their eyes seemed nothing alike now. Grumpy seemed so… bitter and downright _angry_ at everything and everyone. He wondered how Antonio could actually bear to be in the same room with this man.

Ludwig then brought up the paper of the search warrant.

"We have a search warrant," he said, triumphantly despite himself.

Italy blinked and didn't answer for a couple of seconds, scanning the paper. He then took a step forward and held out a hand.

"Let me see that close-by."

Ludwig instinctively brought the paper away from Vargas, taking a step back. "And why is that? So you can burn it?"

Italy rolled his eyes. "Don't be fucking stupid. I just want to read it." He flexed his fingers, motioning for him to hurry up already.

Ludwig remained still for a moment, and then slowly moved the piece of paper through the bars, earning a glare and a low warning growl from the Mastiff. Italy caught the paper between his index and middle finger, and started reading it.

Ludwig thought he had never felt so tense. He knew that this would never get them inside Villa Dante, but it was essential that they bought enough time for Antonio.

Then, the silence and the tension broke, as Italy snorted out a laugh. "Hahahaha! Nice try, _crucco_. This is obviously fake." Italy crumpled the paper in his fist and threw it through the bars at the German's head.

"Nicely done, but fake nonetheless. This paper isn't shit- you can't get in the house," the Italian continued, a smirk pulling at the right corner of his mouth. "And you actually had me worried there for a second."

Ludwig's left eye twitched, but he remained as silent and still as a statue.

Italy glanced behind the detective at the car and the Lieutenant in it. He then let his gaze wander about the policemen standing there.

Delisi thickly swallowed, gripping the wheel even tighter. Any more and his phalanxes would probably break.

"Is this a joke? You seriously have only one car up and running? Pathetic. Seriously, fucking pathetic." The Boss snorted.

"_Someone_ sabotaged the cars," Ludwig growled, eyes narrowing, his blue gaze wanting more than to pierce a hole through the Italian's forehead.

Italy rolled his eyes. "Oh, I feel _so_ bad for you. Anyway, nice try, I admit it. Now please get lost, thank you very much. You are ruining my view." He then turned away, as did his henchmen, (plus the Neapolitan Mastiff) and they walked back to the mansion.

A policeman standing beside the German frowned, looking at the detective. "Well, that was a waste of time."

Ludwig smiled faintly, thinking about the detective currently scurrying through the mansion. "Not really. Trust me. Thank you for your assistance."

The policemen didn't really look all that convinced, but complied anyway. They turned and walked away swiftly, disappearing around a corner.

The detective sighed deeply, turning his gaze towards the Villa and then closing his eyes for a moment.

"You better come back out of that hellhole alive, Antonio," he murmured to no one in particular.

After a couple of seconds, he headed towards the car, and opened the vehicle's rear door. The Lieutenant diligently turned on the engine, which roared to life immediately.

Ludwig was about to step inside the car, when he heard something that caught his attention. Because of this he stopped mid-motion, one leg already inside the vehicle. He turned his head to look where that awful sound was coming from, and discovered it was a motorcycle.

This normally wouldn't have fazed him, but then he noticed something else.

It was a black motorcycle. The same one he had thought had been following them.

Ludwig's brow furrowed. While observing the motorcyclist, he straightened up his back, one foot still in the car.

The motorbike was heading at high speed towards them driving in a straight road. In a matter of seconds the rider was already much closer to them, and Ludwig thought he had to be suicidal.

Because he wasn't _slowing down_.

Ludwig took his foot out of the car and stabilized his stance, feet set shoulder-length apart; not that he intended to block the motorcyclist's crazy ride like a fool would, but because he would be able evade sideways, quickly and easily, if he happened to come too close.

Then, it seemed as if the rider had suddenly remembered that brakes existed as well, and pulled them. The bike toppled forwards, leaning all its weight up onto the front wheel. Surprisingly enough, the rider seemed to be able to maintain the balance of it all while he skidded meter after meter towards them, the front tire screeching loudly.

Ludwig scowled. Luckily, it seemed that the motorcycle was slowing down quickly, but he still didn't like this. He had a bad feeling creeping up his spine.

A mere meter from the German detective, the motor suddenly stopped. It wavered forwards a bit, in precarious balance, before falling heavily back on its rear wheel again, shock absorbers protesting loudly.

The front tire was smoking and hissing profusely, while the rider was staring at him from behind the black visor.

Ludwig had had enough of this.

"Who are you?" he asked in English, hoping the man wasn't Italian.

The rider didn't answer. He remained as still as a statue, still staring at him from inside his black helmet and equally black visor.

The German was about to repeat the question, when the rider suddenly stepped off the motorbike, allowing it to fall brusquely on the asphalt. This was getting weirder by the minute.

Suddenly, a muffled voice sounded from inside the helmet.

"_…Ludwig Beilschmidt…?_"

The detective's nostrils flared as he heard his name. He had never heard that voice before, and if he had, he definitely would not have been able to recognise it because of the helmet anyway.

He decided to ignore the question the rider had asked; he didn't like his attitude.

"I asked, _who are you_?" Ludwig said again, growling. There was no doubt about it- this guy was bad news; he could almost feel it.

The rider didn't answer, and seemed to be observing him thoroughly.

Suddenly, he lunged forwards, grabbing Ludwig's collar with both hands and lifting him up a little until he barely stood on his toes. The German's eyes widened in surprise.

"_Was?!_" He was definitely taller than the rider; it was an impressive achievement to have lifted him up so easily.

He reacted by grabbing the rider's collar, snarling, but the rider suddenly threw him sideways to the ground, taking advantage of the detective's little footing.

Ludwig fell on one knee to the ground, and, snarling, got to his feet in barely a second.

But when he was about to face the rider again, he had moved towards the Lieutenant. Delisi wasn't believing his eyes, and was trying to take out his gun. Somehow, it was stuck in something, so the rider had the golden chance of throwing the door open easily, grab the Lieutenant, and toss him out of the car.

"What the hell!?" Ludwig took out the Walther P5. "Stop right there!"

The rider jumped inside the still running car, and floored the accelerator. The Giulia immediately roared and sped away swaying left and right, two doors still open.

Ludwig swore. He pointed the gun at the car's tires, but the rider was skilfully zigzagging swiftly and randomly. He had a better idea. He glanced sideways at the toppled and still running motorcycle.

This would give him a chance of getting the crazy thief, stop his escape, or discover his whereabouts- if he had any.

He put the gun in his trousers' pocket, pulled up the motorcycle, hopped onto it, and turned the handle. The motorbike roared, and Ludwig started the chase.

* * *

Antonio glanced around himself, while hesitatingly taking a few steps forward.

It looked as if he had gone back in time somehow.

He was standing the biggest private studio he had ever seen. Seriously, it was huge. All the furniture was made out of inlaid, almost gold-shimmering wood which looked old and precious- even more precious than the furniture in the rest of the house.

The walls were almost completely covered by tall bookshelves overflowing with rebound books. A few paintings of the renaissance showing Roman Triumphs were squeezed in the small spaces between the shelves. Hanging by the ceiling there was an ancient-looking Ptolemaic solar system made out of brass and bronze, and if Antonio had looked any closer – or had been any taller – he would have seen that the spinning and coloured orbs had their names engraved in Latin. The blue 'Terra' was in the middle, followed by a silvery 'Luna', a red 'Mercurius', a beige 'Venus', a golden 'Sol', a blood red 'Mars', a brown 'Jupiter' and a greenish 'Saturnus'.

Antonio's gaze travelled back down again.

A gargantuan mahogany writing table dominated the back of the room, on top of an expensive-looking red, golden and dark blue carpet. Behind the writing table there was a tall red velvet armchair. The writing table top itself was empty- not even the smallest hint of dust could be seen on it. Antonio could almost see his reflection on the polished wood.

The Spaniard felt as if he had treaded in a temple of some sort. The very air he was breathing felt somehow solemn, and an ancient taste flavoured it all, making it somehow sacred.

He suddenly noticed the temple's guardian and almost had a heart attack.

A life-size marble statue of a muscular man was glaring at him from his right, positioned between two bookshelves. He had all his weight on one foot, as if he had just taken a step forward. He was also balancing a thick and knobbly club in his palms, and by the look on the statue's face, he seemed to be pondering whether to club the intruder or not.

Antonio swallowed, looking at the extremely realistic statue. _Ἡρακλῆς_, Heracles, like it said on his pedestal, almost seemed to be wanting to warn him, only barely tolerating his presence.

This was an ancient, sacred temple, and he was an unwanted, heathen, guest.

Feeling the statue's eyes boring into his back, he turned to look at the books. Of all colours and size, going from atlases to history books; from all Latin authors like Seneca or Virgil, to ancient Greek literature from Homer or Xenophon; from weapon anthologies and books of Roman wars to… 'The Art of Cross-Stitching'?

He blinked for a second, and then tore his gaze away from the bookshelves. As interesting as they might be, he had to find somewhere to hide the bug. This looked like an important place, and frequently used as well.

His eyes fell on the writing table, and Antonio smiled. Perfect.

He headed decidedly towards the table, shooting a furtive glance first in the statue's direction – still glaring at him, unsurprisingly yet creepily unmoving – and then at his watch.

Only a couple of minutes left, and then his safe ten minutes would be over. He had to hurry.

He stood behind the table, right beside the enormous red chair. Antonio took out a handkerchief and covered his right hand so that he wouldn't leave fingerprints anywhere. He pondered his choices for a minute, and then kneeled by the chair, both palms resting softly on the carpet. He scuttled a little forwards, so he could have a view of the chair from under it.

He smiled a little, taking the bug out of his pocket and removing the adhesive strap of it. He cautiously positioned it under the chair, and after a few checks that it would remain attached, Antonio stood straight up again, huffing, satisfied of his choice.

And he nearly had a heart attack.

He took a step backwards and gripped the edge of the writing table tightly to maintain balance.

He somehow hadn't noticed it before, but an enormous painting hung behind the armchair. It was actually so huge Antonio seriously thought about going to an eye doctor to have his sight checked.

It was a portrait. A family portrait.

Antonio's eyes narrowed, and he took a slow step forward, looking up at the depicted faces.

There were three people in the painting, standing in front of a neutral background. A tall and a somewhat muscular man stood in the middle of it, wearing an elegant dark brown suit. As if contrasting with the neatness of the suit, the man's hair was an unruly mop of curls sticking in every direction. The hair's colour was dark brown, but somehow here and there Antonio could discern a golden-like shimmer between the curls. The man had handsome features, and an almost geometric jaw covered by a short stubble that didn't look shabby at all. If anything, it added to the man's charm as he was smiling warmly, especially if you noticed the man's eyes. They were light brown, and again, a golden-like shimmer made them almost _sparkle_ of playful mischievousness under dark eyebrows. Antonio blinked. Wow. This definitely wasn't an ordinary man.

His gaze travelled down to the other two figures.

Two small boys, about ten years or perhaps a bit older, stood on either side of the smiling man. Antonio's eyes widened. The boys were twins.

The boy to his left looked like the portrait of happiness itself: shining big eyes, plump cheeks and a wide toothy smile. The man's hand was gently resting on top of the boy's head, ruffling a few coppery-brown strands of hair.

The boy on his right was almost identical to the one on the left, albeit only in appearance. Same built, same frame, same eyes, same haircut. Antonio's eyes narrowed however when he noticed the hair's colour. It was perhaps a single shade darker than the hair of the other boy, a difference so small it could easily be overlooked if you saw the two boys separately. Another difference was this boy's attitude. His eyebrows were downcast, but not as much as to form a frown. His eyes looked much more serious than the ones of the other twin, as if he knew exactly what was going on.

And he was smiling. A toothless smile- small, sly, almost mockingly so. He looked happy.

"Oh my God…" Antonio barely managed to whisper.

Both Italies and their grandfather. There was no doubt about that. The man's name had been Romulus, he remembered… such an eccentric name, obviously inspired by Roman culture. He briefly glanced at the room around him. This had to be his stuff, obviously. His old studio.

It seemed the Italies used it nowadays, but without changing anything.

Suddenly, he noticed a tiny writing in the low right corner, and he immediately bowed to read it.

_- Romulus Vargas -_

_with his grandsons_

_Feliciano Vargas_

_Romano Vargas_

_- 1963 -_

The detective's head started spinning wildly, realising what had happened.

He had just discovered their names. Their freaking names!

His eyes darted from the names to the figures of the boys. Feliciano. Romano. Romano. Feliciano. Who was Feliciano and who was Romano…? He didn't know. Both names fitted either of them. But he decided he would figure that out later.

He hurriedly glanced at his watch. His ten minutes were over.

The hair on the back of his neck suddenly stood up. His time was up. He had to hurry and get the hell out of there…! He started heading for the door, shooting a glance at the statue still observing him.

And that's when a piece of paper sticking out of a drawer of the writing table attracted his attention.

One part of his mind was screaming at him to forget about it and get back to the room with Romano/Feliciano/Italy Vargas. Another part was persuasively suggesting that that piece of paper had to be important… that whole drawer had to be important…

_Just a second. I'll quickly look this through and be gone in less than thirty seconds! _he told himself decidedly.

Little did he know, he should never have done that.

He quickly walked over to the desk and with the handkerchief-covered hand he pulled open the incriminated drawer with such force it almost fell out of the piece of furniture.

It was filled to the brim with yellowy papers. After a nanosecond he actually understood what they all were. File folders, not too unlike what they had at the police department.

Intrigued, he opened up the first file.

The sight kind of unsettled him. A small black and white photograph, a name and a category like some kind of class, under which were listed many other different traits.

His blood ran cold as soon as he read the first line.

_Gaetano Cannizzaro – Murderer._

He gulped, looking at the picture. Was this drawer full of the Vargas henchmen? He swiftly opened up another one.

_Vito Puglisi – Blackmailer, Rapist._

A disgusted grimace appeared on the detective's face. Italy seriously hired _these_ kinds of people…? He honestly couldn't imagine it. Also, he didn't recognise the names from the list he and Ludwig had… but perhaps these were – he shuddered – undercover agents?!

He opened a third one, the last one, he decided.

_Mario Torrisi – Thief, Blackmailer, Murderer._

Antonio blinked, staring at the last file. Somehow, it sounded familiar, but he was certain he had never read it on the henchmen's list… he had seen it somewhere else.

Intrigued, he was about to read further in the file of this Torrisi guy, when he heard the distinctive sound of a door being unlocked. The door of the studio.

His heart skipped a beat as he froze on the spot, head snapping up to look at the wooden door.

To his left, the statue of Heracles seemed to be smirking, satisfied.

The door slammed open, revealing a panting and wide-eyed Italy 'Grumpy' Vargas.

His mouth slightly opened, Italy stared dumbstruck at the equally startled Antonio.

Slowly, the Boss closed his mouth, however his eyes remained open wide. Hurt and betrayal filled his gaze. However those were soon replaced with pure rage and fury.

A few whispered words escaped his trembling lips.

"…You unimaginable _bastard_."

* * *

Ludwig was speeding after the car thief, who kept swaying and turning left and right to avoid any eventual bullets heading for the tires, uncaring of the traffic heading in either direction. Thus, a loud concert of honks and horns followed them wherever they went. Often the driver would purposely make the car crash into a stand of some sort so that Ludwig would have difficulty continuing the chase, but the detective did not budge.

As a single sweat drop streaked his forehead, he mentally noticed something.

_He's heading towards the harbour. Perhaps that's where he hides? Unlikely, if I'm chasing him. Perhaps there he can find accomplices who would back him up? _he thought, while narrowing his eyes to shield them against the wind. The motorcycle was at its limit; it wouldn't go any faster, and it wasn't enough to catch up with the fast Giulia. He could just barely keep up.

He cursed, trying to push the motorcycle further, in vain.

After a minute or so, he caught a glimpse of water shimmering in the morning sun. Ludwig gritted his teeth.

The car's rotations wound up as its tires met an unexpected bump, and it detached itself from the ground. People shrieked and ran away in panic as soon as they caught sight of the haywire vehicle.

The car landed heavily on the asphalt again, swerving slightly. Then, it stopped turning left and right, and headed straight for the nearest dock.

_What the…?! _Ludwig thought. _Is he suicidal!?_

The driver had apparently forgotten that the man chasing him had a gun, or maybe because he wanted to speed off the dock as fast as possible.

The German fished out the gun from his pocket with his left hand, and pointed it at the tires. Even if he was right-handed, he had trained himself to be able to shoot with both hands, and it had come in handy right now.

He closed one eye, pointed at the car already more than halfway through the dock, held his breath and pulled the trigger.

He hit a the bull's eye. The rear right wheel exploded and turned into shreds, making the vehicle swerve wildly as the driver tried to maintain the speed and course.

Unbelievingly, he succeeded. The car continued and devoured the last couple of metres that separated it from the harbour's waters.

Ludwig pointed again, this time at the other tire.

But it was too late.

The car leapt in the air, remained suspended for a couple of instants, and then crashed in the water, spraying everything all around with seawater. It seemed about to remain afloat, but then it started sinking. In a matter of moments, it had disappeared under the surface.

Ludwig's blood ran cold. He hadn't seen anyone jump out of the vehicle.

He practically jumped off the motorcycle, and ran to the edge so that he could maybe see something. Any sign of life, any sign that the thief was swimming away underwater… bubbles, water movements, a splash, anything.

He saw something alright.

With a deep rumble, there was a sudden increase in the large bubbles coming from the sinking car, forming foam on the water surface.

And then a bright orange flare lit up, deep in the dark blue-green waters.

* * *

**That's all, folks!**

**I noticed only when it was too late that Herakles is also Greece in Hetalia... *facepalm* you can imagine the statue representing him, okay? :P**

**Oh, and to anyone who remembers where we met Mario Torrisi before gets a virtual plate of pasta! (no cheating, though)**

**Also, thank you SO MUCH, _musiclover3!_ **

**Well, I guess I'll see you next chapter! ;D **

**Ciao! **

**(Long end notes... Sorry! Just kidding I'm not sorry MWAHAHAHAHA)**

**...**

_**Chi è? : **__(italian) Who is it?_

_**La, le, lu…Nur der Mann im Mond schaut zu… Wenn die kleinen Babies schlafen… Drum schlaf´ auch du… : **__(german) La, lee loo... Only the man in the moon watches... If the little babies are sleeping... Thus, sleep you, too. (This is a beautiful German lullaby, I highly reccomend you look it up! It's called "La le lu")_

_**Cosa cazzo stai facendo?! : **__(italian) What the fuck are you doing?!_

_**Cosa ti sembra? Lo perquisisco! : **__(itailano) What does it look like? I'm searching him!_

_**Ma sei scemo?! Questo è l'amico del capo! Smamma prima che ti rompa le rotule, testa vuota! : **__(italian) Are you dumb?! This is the Boss's friend! Shove off before i break your kneecaps, meathead!_

_**Avanti : **__(italian) Come in._

_**Laocoon : **__Laocoon was a Trojan priest of Poseidon, whose rules he had defied. During the Trojan war, he tried to warn the Trojans about the Horse that the Greeks had contructed, but he recieved divine execution by two serpents sent by Athena (who sided with the Greeks). The statue mentioned is a famous and dramatic statue representing Laocoon and his two sons, wrapped in the coils of the two serpents. _(Why this guy names the chapter? Think about who he might symbolize...!)

_**David : **__It's a masterpiece of Renaissance sculpture, sculpted by Michelangelo between 1501 and 1504. The statue represents the Biblical hero David, a favoured subject in the art of Florence._

_**Crucco : **__(italian) Kraut._

_**Mein Gott... : **__(german) My God..._

_**Scheiße! : **__(german) Shit!_

_**Capo? : **__(italian) Boss?_

_**Quante volte ve lo devo dire che non voglio essere disturbato?! Voglio essere lasciato in pace per dieci fottutissimi minuti! : **__(italian) How many times do I have to tell you I don't want to be disturbed?! I want to be left in peace for ten fucking minutes!_

_**Cassata : **__It's a traditional VERY sweet cake from the area of Palermo, Sicily. There are many different types of cassata not only in the recipies but also in the presentation, going from very simple designs to Baroquesque extravagant decorations. Cassata basically consists of round sponge moistened with fruit juices or liqueur, layered with ricotta cheese, candied peel, and a filling similar to cannoli cream. It is covered with a shell of marzipan, usually green pastel colored icing, and then decorations. The cassata is then often topped with candied fruit depicting cherries and slices of citrus fruit characteristic of Sicily._

_**Ma porca di quella miseria…Cazzo c'è adesso!? : **__(italian) For God's sake... What the fuck is there now!?_

_**Capo, abbiamo bisogno di lei! : **__(italian) Boss, we need you!_

_**...Dios mío : **__(spanish) My God._

_**Was?! : **__(german) What?!_

_**Heracles : **__Heracles was the greatest of the Greek heroes, a paragon of masculinity: extraordinary strength, courage, ingenuity, and sexual prowess with both males and females were among his characteristic attributes. However he was also regarded as a playful figure who used games to relax from his labors and played a great deal with children. Heracles was an extremely passionate and emotional individual, capable of doing both great deeds for his friends and being a terrible enemy for those who crossed him. In Rome he is known as _Hercules_. The Romans adopted the Greek version of his life and works essentially unchanged, but added anecdotal detail of their own, some of it linking the hero with the geography of the Central Mediterranean (basically, they stole Heracles from the Greeks and told it was theirs XD)_


	20. Pieces slowly coming together

**Ciao everybody! How are you? Good, I hope!**

**Is it just me or do are my chapters just getting LONGER?**

**Sorry for the two-weeks wait, but as you know I'm flooded by: School, driving school, and my 18th birthday (which is tomorrow! :D)  
So yeah, I've been busy lately X3**

**Also, I keep discovering new British words that I adore, and I'd love if somebody could widen my vocabulary about those! (My achievements so far: Tenterhooks, prick, nitwit, bollocks, tally-ho!, arse and balderdash. ^^)**

**Oh, and I FINALLY uploaded pictures about STHAN! I have two versions, a simple black-and-white and a coloured one! As usual, you can find it on Deviantart**

**Black&white: /art/Strange-Things-Happen-at-Night-407454902**

**Coloured: /art/Strange-Things-Happen-at-Night-Mafia-Hetalia- 408426881**

**Also, not many have noticed the 'Laocoon' thing, I think I should underline it a bit more. Please look for this statue, I think it is pretty damn important because of what it symbolizes XD**

**ANYHOW!  
Please sit back, und ENJOY.**

* * *

_...?_

He put on his gloves and boots, before straightening up. He called out for his brother.

"_Ludwig, you lazy jerk! Get down here or the awesome me will leave and have fun without you!_"

There was the sound of hurried footsteps running down a flight of stairs.

"_Nein! Warten sie, Bruder!_" He heard the voice before the speaker turned the corner and stopped, panting.

A six-year-old blonde boy looked up at him, boots and gloves already at his feet and hands, his jacket put on backwards.

An eight-year-old Gilbert scoffed, smiling. "_Are you seriously planning on going out like this?_" He took off the coat and put it on right, buttoned it up, and reached for a woolly scarf and hat for the smaller boy. As soon as he had covered most of him up, he smirked, satisfied. "_That's more like it, huh?_"

Ludwig nodded clumsily. The only features visible were his eyes and nose.

"_Gut!_ _Jetzt, lass uns gehen!_" Gilbert reached for the door handle, but was stopped by his brother's muffled voice.

"_We can't stay out long… I still have to study_," he said seriously.

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "_Oh come on, Lutz! You don't have to do your homework- it's Christmas!_"

The smaller boy shook his head earnestly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "_It is very important._"

The albino frowned, turning to look at his brother. "_Wait, is dad trying to make you do stuff again?_" Silence confirmed the question, and Gilbert rolled his eyes. "_What is it this time?_"

Ludwig nervously looked down at the tip of his boots. "_Physics._"

The albino cocked an eyebrow, staring at his sibling.

"_…and chemistry_," Ludwig admitted under his big brother's gaze.

Gilbert sighed and went down on one knee. He was two years older, and so he basically towered over his little brother. He liked to think that he would always maintain this primacy. He put a hand on Ludwig's head and looked him straight in the eyes.

"_Lutz, you know you don't have to do it, right?_" he muttered seriously.

Ludwig blinked, looking elsewhere. "_But… I like it…_"

Gilbert sighed. He knew Ludwig was a smart little bastard, but their father sometimes forgot that he was still a six-year-old and treated him like an adult, confusing the boy even further. "_Look, Lutz. You are smart. A very, very, very smart boy; smarter than most adults. But remember, even if you are so smart, you are still a boy._" He paused, standing up. "_And don't tell me that boys don't have time to play in the snow with their awesome big brother!_"

Ludwig looked up to the albino, blue eyes wide, the red scarf falling a little so that more of his face was revealed. And then, he smiled broadly- which was an awesome thing, Gilbert thought. Ludwig always seemed so earnest to control himself, to behave like an adult, or at least to behave like their father- with a stiff demeanour, serious gaze, and the rarest and most controlled smiles of the world. They also looked really alike, which only added to the clone-impression Gilbert had of those two.

But this… This was a real smile, a smile of a boy going to play in the snow at Christmas. Gilbert had won this round. He had the habit of counting the times he could get Ludwig to behave like the boy he was the times their dad treated him like a grown up. Awesome-12, Dad-8 points scored during the holiday.

"_Of course I can, Bruder! And if it's a snowball fight you're planning, you know I don't make prisoners!_" The little boy laughed, smiling even more.

Gilbert grinned, opening the door. Awesome-13. "_We'll see about that._"

* * *

This was what Gilbert saw in the nanosecond he split his head against the dashboard, when he landed in the water with the undermined car. Luckily he was still wearing a helmet, or else his head would have literally split in two like a watermelon, instead of giving him the feeling of it.

He was blinded for a few seconds, and he blinked wildly to recollect himself. Where was he? Why was everything spinning so much? And why did his socks feel wet… correction, why did his _underwear_ feel wet?!

He willed the world around him to stop spinning and looked down at his legs. He noticed that his helmet's visor was badly cracked; that he was still seated in the car's cockpit and that the wetness was already reaching his shoulders. Why the hell was water entering in a car!? And so freaking _fast_?!

That's when he remembered what had happened, and recognised the danger he was in.

"Holy shit!" he managed to exclaim, taking off the helmet before taking a last deep breath of air.

With his cheeks filled up with precious oxygen, he compelled his eyes to open in the salty waters. It stung badly, but he kind of didn't have a choice. He had to get out of there as soon as possible, noting the rapid spinning of the car.

Or would it mean his death?

After all, he had programmed the bomb to set off towards the back. His position should technically be safe. Then again, the bomb was supposed to drop while the car was running, and _then_ go off under the passenger's seat towards the back.

The bomb was, right now, positioned somewhere in front of his legs.

And he wasn't sure that the water would corrupt the chemical process in time, so that it all wouldn't go off.

Actually, the many blurred bubbles he could see coming from under the engine told him the exact opposite was happening.

All things considered, he had to get the _fuck _out of there.

And he did. He exited from the rapidly sinking vehicle and started swimming as fast as he could towards the white surface, which wasn't all that far. A harbour's waters couldn't be too deep, right? A deep rumble suddenly drummed in his ears and made his ribcage tremble, and the water momentarily took up the colour of orange.

Gilbert thought he had actually made it, but then a wave of hot water made him lose his swimming stance, flipping him in every direction but the surface's, bubbles swirling all around him like mad wasps. And then something hit his head hard from behind.

The orange became black, while fat silvery bubbles escaped from his lips.

* * *

"_Oh Gott, oh Gott, oh Gott…_" Ludwig was staring at the water, which after the explosion was bubbling still.

_An explosion. A freaking bomb. A BOMB was placed in the car. That man wasn't a thief- well maybe he was, but he just saved my life, and possibly the life of a lot of other people. A bomb. Oh, oh, Gott…_These were basically the thoughts spinning around the detective's head. The realisation that he had eluded Death by a hair's width left him with the feeling of cold dread in his bones. And the fact that a complete stranger had just saved him…

"Come on…" he muttered, staring anxiously at the water's surface, uncaring of the crowd gathering on the dock and approaching him. He bared his teeth. Why wasn't the man resurfacing yet!?

Then, a second delayed flare lit up the waters again, outlining many dark silhouettes floating about. Almost all of them were bent and scrapped to unrecognisable shapes, except for one. A human silhouette. And it wasn't moving.

Ludwig stood up and threw his jacket off, then dived headfirst into the water without a second thought.

Thief or no thief, he wasn't going to let anybody die on his watch.

The waters weren't cold, but if that was due to the Mediterranean waters or the recent explosion, he didn't know. And didn't care.

He opened his eyes and inspected his surroundings in spite of his blurry vision. Various pieces of debris floated around him, going from car seat stuffing to pieces of glass, from twisted metal chunks quickly sinking, to a wheel lazily floating towards the surface. Also, there was a white big column of smouldering bubbles, which led probably to whatever was left of the car.

In the midst of the mess, floated a body. Ludwig quickly swam towards the man, who wasn't moving or even attempting to swim. He swiftly snaked his arm around his torso, under his armpits, closed his eyes, and then headed for the surface.

When he broke the surface, he gasped for air. It had taken longer than he had thought it would. He glanced at a slide for boats right beside the dock he had jumped off from, and swam in that direction.

He still hadn't had a look at the thief, but he knew one thing that was wrong. Ludwig's logical brain had already analyzed two quite important facts : the man wasn't spasmodically trying to hold the one saving him, a common trait for people nearly drowning. Furthermore, he hadn't heard the thief gasp when they broke the surface. This meant he was unconscious, and that he probably wasn't breathing.

He bared his teeth, swimming as fast as he could towards the slide, where a small crowd was gathering, encouraging him in Italian and Sicilian.

Ludwig finally felt concrete under his feet, and he started walking, still dragging the near-drowned man. He then collapsed on his knees panting, the thief's body still half in the water. The detective gritted his teeth, remembering the medical course he had attended. He had to get him out of the water as soon as possible.

But he was already too tired.

Dragging a person who probably weighted 80 kilos out of the water to the surface and then to the slide hadn't been exactly what he would call a relaxed stroll on a sunny Sunday afternoon.

Before he could even react, three Sicilians stepped out of the crowd and dragged the body up the slide, out of the water. Some started calling out "_Dottore_" and "_Ambulanza_", but Ludwig forgot everything about that when he finally saw who the thief was.

The thing that, all of a sudden, had caught his eye had been his hair. The wet locks were glued to the young man's forehead, but it was mostly its _colour _that had struck Ludwig.

White as snow.

Ludwig blinked several times, and while he stared at the man's face, random sentences he had heard, spoken, or thought started spinning and echoing in his head.

"_…You know someone that is on the other side._"

"_Som-…I found him. He's here, in Palermo._"

"_Gilbert is here, he's really here, he's alive, he's alive…_"

"_He's here… Wait, where? Where is he? Please, tell me!"_

"_I-I…I can't tell you where!_"

"_…Do not use any cars while here! Never! Promise me!_"

And then,

"_Do not worry, mein kleine Bruder! I'll be fine, dad just has some business going on with those jerks of the Soviet District, and he needs the awesome me to tag along. I'll be back before you even know it!_"

Fourteen years had passed since that last sentence he had heard from his brother.

And now he was lying in front of him, unconscious, after he had rode off a dock with an undermined car probably meant to kill him.

It didn't even soundly possible. But it was him. It was really him, there was no doubt about it. He had obviously grown- his features were more squared than he remembered them to be as a boy- but it was really _Gilbert._

And the signs of what had just happened were there. Besides the obviousness of his soaked form, his forehead had a nasty bruise and his temple bled a little; no doubt the causes of him passing out…

He shook himself out of his thoughts, logic kicking in again. If he didn't act soon, he would probably lose his brother for a second time.

The German jumped up on his feet again, running to Gilbert's unconscious form, going down to his knees. Hovering over him, he put his head near his brother's nose and mouth to check for any signs of breathing, while one hand went to his neck to check for a pulse.

He found neither, and his eyes widened in fear.

He knew that in these cases, he needed to restore breathing immediately, and also get the heart to work again.

He zipped down the black leather jacket, and ripped open the buttons of the shirt under it, leaving his chest bare. He then opened Gilbert's mouth and started the artificial respiration, pinching the nose and breathing in twice, before performing CPR with thirty pushes, and then back to the artificial respiration.

The people around him were suddenly silent, almost eerily so, waiting for the outcome.

"Come on, breathe! Breathe, bastard!" Ludwig grunted, exasperated, while pushing down on the albino's chest.

After a whole minute of doing so, he heard a sad stranger behind him mutter something. "…_Secondo me è morto. Guarda com'è pallido._"

Ludwig snarled, recognizing the dreadful word, '_morto_'. Dead.

Vision suddenly blurred by tears, he went down on Gilbert's mouth once again.

_Please, please breathe, _he begged in his mind, eyes closed.

All of a sudden, something under him jerked. Ludwig's eyes snapped open as Gilbert's chest had a spasm and the albino started coughing.

The detective straightened up a little, staring at his older brother miraculously restored to life.

Gilbert started coughing up salty water, and Ludwig aided him by turning his head and his whole body sideways so that he wouldn't choke himself.

Two fat tears rolled down the blonde's cheeks.

The crowd around the two of them cheered.

* * *

Antonio stood completely frozen, feet nailed to the ground. Any logical person would have ran away already, but somehow his legs refused to move.

The Boss stared at him unbelievingly from across the room, not moving a single step either. Together with the flames of fury, Antonio could also discern the tides of sadness in his eyes.

Neither dared to speak.

After a whole agonizing minute, Italy spoke.

"…How did you get in…?" his voice was soft, almost whispering.

Antonio didn't answer, unsure whether to tell the truth or to start lying shamelessly.

"Y-you just found the keys somewhere around the house, r-right? A-a-and you were just curious, _right?_"

Was the Boss _stuttering_ and making up excuses for him?!

Antonio decided against his better judgement and against his sense of self-preservation. He told the truth, without talking, by shaking his head slowly.

"…This is j-just some stupid coincidence, right? It must be a joke of some sort!" Italy continued, desperately hoping for Antonio to say yes, laugh goofily, and tell him that he had gotten lost.

The Spaniard slowly shook his head again.

"…Please tell me this is a joke. Please."

But Antonio denied again.

A single tear rolled down the Boss's right cheek, but his expression morphed back into his bitter scowl in a mere second. "…Then who do you work for, huh? _Ivan?_"

Antonio didn't answer, moving the files back in the drawer again extremely carefully, as if any sudden movement would cost him his life.

"Answer me, asshole," the Italian snarled bitterly.

Antonio looked up, and shook his head once.

"Who, then?"

The Spaniard sighed deeply, all energy leaving his body and will. He told the truth. "...Kirkland."

Italy's eyes widened in disbelief. "You… you are cooperating with that kraut." He paused, before repeating it louder. "You are fucking cooperating with that KRAUT!" he shouted, cheeks flushing red with anger. "You fucking LIED from the VERY BEGINNING!" His voice escalated with every sentence, and soon he was yelling loudly.

Antonio blinked, taking a step back. No, that wasn't true, not from the very beginning…

"Wait-"

"SHUT UP! I DON'T WANT TO HEAR ANYTHING ANYMORE COMING FROM YOU!" the Boss screamed, covering both his ears and closing his eyes. He then seemed to calm down again. He lowered his hands and bared his teeth at him, fuming. "You filthy fucking liar… I bet your name isn't even Antonio, huh?"

The detective held his breath. "My name really is Antonio…"

"_Bullshit._" Italy glared daggers at him.

"…Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. And you…"

The Boss frowned, not understanding what he was about to say.

Antonio thought this was probably going to be the final nail in his coffin. "...You are…_Romano_."

Between the two names, he had decided that the latter fitted Grumpy more than the former.

And apparently, he had been right.

Italy's eyes widened in shock. "You… you bastard…" he croaked, looking dizzy all of a sudden, as if he had just taken a blow to the head.

Antonio took a few steps forward, and seeing the Boss was momentarily harmless he tried to persuade him. "Look, Romano, I know that what you do makes you miserable; makes both you _and_ your brother miserable. I don't understand why you keep doing it, but I can help you-"

"Get out."

Antonio wasn't sure if he had heard right. Romano's head was bowed down, staring at his shoes, fists balled at his sides.

"Wha-"

"I said get _out_."

Antonio hesitated. On one hand, he really, really, _really_ wanted to leave right now, walking with his own legs and not carried out as a corpse. But he also didn't want to leave the Boss like that… He cursed himself.

"I…"

"… Just how many fucking times do I have to say it before it gets through your thick skull?" Romano whispered, snarling at him, without even looking. Antonio immediately heard from his voice that he was crying.

He looked down, ashamed and conflicted. It was his job to catch him, to catch both of them, but the operation had gone too far. He had betrayed the trust of a friend now.

"I'm… I'm sorry," he glumly said, before leaving the studio.

"Fuck you," was the whispering answer.

To Antonio's left, just outside the studio, a henchman stood with a scowl plastered on his face, and his right hand was tucked inside the suit's jacket, no doubt fiddling with a pistol's butt. The man reached a hand out, grunting a single word. "Keys."

Antonio gulped, and quickly handed over both keys. He then turned and walked in the opposite direction as fast as he could without breaking into a run, looking rather awkward.

As soon as he reached the front door, he threw the thing open and started running away towards the gates. His speed increased when he heard dogs barking.

He turned his head to look behind him, and indeed, two Neapolitan Mastiffs were heading right at him, drool flying around their muzzles.

Antonio 'Eek!'ed in a very unmanly way and ran as fast as the wind. When he reached the gates, the dogs' jaws were snapping at his suit's jacket flapping behind him, powerful teeth missing just barely the fabric.

The detective jumped against the iron gate and started climbing up and over it, dogs loudly barking under him. He gulped, looking down at them, before dropping over the other side of the bars.

He glanced for a last time at the gardens of Villa Dante, and then ran away, feeling incredibly guilty.

* * *

He opened the door with the double lock, and plodded into the room.

A head with a worried look peeked up from behind a piece of furniture.

"You didn't do it, did you…?" Feliciano asked his twin brother, worry for the German detective written all over his features.

Romano neared his twin, who was seated on a sofa, and only then did Feliciano notice the tears.

"Wha-"

Romano fell to his knees in front of him, and hugged Feliciano's legs.

"I am so, so sorry." He sobbed into his shins. "I…I…"

The other twin didn't really understand what had happened, but comfortingly patted his sibling's head. Feliciano was still worried sick about Ludwig, but what had happened to make his tough brother cry like this?

"…What happened?" he whispered.

"…Antonio. Fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_! Feliciano, I am so fucking sorry…" Romano hiccupped. "I understand now. I fucking understand what you mean now. _Mi spiace… m-mi dispiace… mi dispiace così tanto… perdonami…_" he croaked in Italian between his sobs.

Feliciano understood now. Antonio was involved, and it probably had turned out to be like with Ludwig. "…What did you do?"

The other thickly swallowed before answering. "I… I let him go…"

Feliciano freed his knees from his twin's grip and sat down beside him on the ground, hugging his frame and rocking him back and forth a little. "Ve, hey, it's alright, calm down. Shhh."

"It's not fucking alright! He's… he's a detective, for fuck's sake, and, and…!" Romano had to take a deep breath before continuing. "I understand how you feel now, and Antonio works with that potato friend of yours, and I'm feeling _so_ fucked up right now, and, and, and… I don't have the faintest clue of how the bombing went." He looked up at his twin. "_Mi dispiace…_ I don't know if he's-"

Feliciano felt cold dread grip his heart from inside, but kept soothing his brother, rocking him back and forth still. "…Shhh. It's okay. It's okay," he whispered, while mentally thinking about the German detective. '_Please be okay_'.

* * *

Gilbert continued coughing, his eyes closed, wheezing and panting and chocking all at the same time.

How the hell had he gotten out of the water!? And why was there so much noise? Ugh…

He squeezed his eyes shut, coughing out some more water. He felt, quite literally, like shit. His whole chest burned from the inside, as if someone had sandpapered his lungs and his throat. He coughed up some more.

He suddenly noticed someone's hand was on his back, helping to keep him turned. He was really grateful for that hand; he felt incredibly weak, un-awesomely so.

When he felt that if he were to cough more he would probably cough out his own lungs, he stopped, wheezing, finally taking a look around him.

A small crowd of people around them looked really relieved, and excitedly chattered to each other while looking at the albino. Okay, so he had been saved from drowning; not a big deal, everybody could go home already.

That made him think – _saved_ from _drowning_. Something had hit his head after the explosion, and then… he had woken up coughing. Who had saved him? And… he became even paler, if possible. Ludwig had been chasing him. The guy had shot him! Okay, not technically him, but… he didn't want to be found by his brother, not yet anyway. Not right after an attempted homicide through a bomb created by his own hands…

He turned to look at his saviour, and nearly had a stroke.

_Ludwig_ was staring at him, a fat tear rolling down his already wet cheek.

"Gilbert…!" the blonde whispered, before bear-hugging his brother, albeit carefully. After all, the albino had almost drowned. "_Oh, Gott, Gilbert, Ich habe dich zo vermisst…!_" he whispered in German, shoulders shaking.

Gilbert's eyes went wide, before they closed as he smiled. He returned the hug, patting the blonde on his broad back. "…Hey Lutz. I… I've missed you too, brother. Thank you."

"The ambulance will be here any minute now, don't worry. You'll be okay in no time," Ludwig muttered in the crook of his neck. "You'll be okay… you'll be okay."

At this, Gilbert's eyes snapped open again. "_Nein!_ No ambulances!" He pushed his brother away from the hug.

"…Why?" The blonde asked, brow furrowing.

"I-I-I'll explain later… Just help me up, will ya?" Gilbert said evasively. He didn't need Vargas to track him down in a hospital because he had failed the mission… and maybe also send him back to the USSR.

Ludwig blinked, but complied anyway, standing up and offering a hand. The albino took it and slowly stood up, feeling a little dizzy and weak still. He wavered a little, but didn't fall, because he found sustainment by swinging an arm around the blonde's shoulders. Ludwig was helping him like one would help a drunk walk straight.

"You're in no shape to walk anywhere, Gilbert," Ludwig complained as they started plodding away from the harbour slide, the crowd opening for them and applauding Ludwig, before slowly leaving. "And you have a lot of explaining to do. Why did you do something so reckless?! You could just have warned me not to get in the car, you know."

Gilbert internally winced. _I did that because I didn't want to confront you, you dummy, _he thought. "I know, I know! Just… trust me okay? Please, no hospitals or ambulances, but somewhere else safe. I'll… I'll explain on the way. Promise." He weakly grinned, before coughing a little and stumbling over his own feet.

Ludwig grumbled. "That's it, I'm calling-"

"I said don't-!"

"…a taxi, idiot. I'm not letting you walk like this." The blonde sighed, shaking his head. "Let's just get to that public phone there and call one. I'll take you to the police station. There they'll have band aids for your head and dry clothes both for you and for me, as well as something warm to drink. And... we have kind of a long catching up to do."

Now it was Gilbert's turn to shake his head. No matter how many years had passed, it felt as if they had just seen each other yesterday. He smiled.

"Yes, yes we do."

* * *

"…_It failed. Do you understand what this means?_" the voice said on the other end of the phone.

"Y-yes…" Delisi gulped, sweating profusely and eyeing the Captain through the small glass window of the door.

"_It means you're still indebted with us. It means another favour._"

"But-!" the Lieutenant tried to complain, but was cut off by the voice.

"_No 'buts', Lieutenant. Listen carefully, now…_"

Delisi remained silent, while on the other end the voice kept talking. And then, "…_Is that clear, Lieutenant?_"

The Sicilian gulped, and his answer wasn't more than a whisper, as he stared at his own shoes. "…Yes."

"_Good. Be sure this at least doesn't fail. Or Boss will be disappointed_," the voice said, and then hung up.

Delisi slowly hung the receiver on its place again, head hanging between his hunched shoulders.

They had been pretty clear. He still wasn't free. He'd have to do this…this _thing_ again; being a traitor… He glanced at the Brit through the glass of the door.

He wondered how Judas would have felt in his place.

Actually, maybe he precisely knew how he had felt.

The Captain neared his position, and opened the wooden and glass door, a frown upon his face.

"Did you hear what just happened at the harbour?" he asked.

Delisi shook his head, as he attempted to sound jovial again. "No, sir. What happened?"

"Our car was blown to smithereens! The vehicle you and Beilschmidt were in! After that thief stole the car!"

Delisi slowly nodded, as he let the other continue.

"Luckily, neither of you is hurt. At least, that's what I heard about Beilschmidt... I don't know the details yet, but he seems to be alive, and I'll have more information soon. Bloody hell, it was the only working police vehicle! And by the way, your Japanese friend hasn't shown up yet. Do you have any idea when he will? I'd like to ask him some _questions_..." the Brit asked before sinking into one of the sofas of the Lieutenant's office.

"…No…I didn't hear anything about him since yesterday… and how did the car blow up? How is that possible?" The Lieutenant lied painfully. Technically, he hadn't been at the harbour; he technically didn't know a single thing about what had happened; he…

Arthur frowned, his bushy brows knitting together. "Delisi."

"Yes, Captain?"

"Is something wrong? You seem upset about something."

Delisi wanted to burst out laughing. Something wrong, ha! Upset, what a joke! He wanted to do anything to not make himself look suspicious, but somehow, he didn't say a word. He then decided it would be better like this. He was getting tired of it all, enough was enough.

At the Lieutenant's silence, Arthur slowly stood up again. "Is there something you're not telling me…?" he asked in concern. He took a step towards the man, whose gaze was lost in nothingness.

Suddenly, after the Captain took another step, Delisi conjured his gun from his hip faster than lightning, and pointed it at the Brit's head.

"W-What is the meaning of this?!" the Captain sputtered, taking a step back.

Delisi's blue eyes were wide, and his expression was one of pure fear. "I-I am sorry, sir. I have failed you."

Arthur's nostrils flared, but he forced himself to remain calm. "Delisi, calm down. Put your gun away, you might hurt somebody."

"No! I'm not calming down! _I_ helped the Vargas position the bomb!" Delisi suddenly exclaimed, closing his eyes as he said it, albeit without moving the gun away.

The Captain blinked. "…What…?"

"The Japanese man was one of Yao Wang's most trusted henchmen! He sabotaged all the cars!" the man continued, now with his eyes open, but with tears hanging by the rims of them.

Arthur couldn't believe his ears. What in the heavens was happening? His most trusted Lieutenant had sold them out? To Vargas!? To Yao Wang, the most powerful man in the East?!

"It is all _my_ fault!" Delisi cried out, gun now slightly shaking in his hands.

The Brit felt anger build up in his chest, but the fact that Delisi was confessing this to him while almost to the point of crying meant that there was something more. He had to calm him down.

"Angelo Delisi, calm down. You're not guilty of anything, I'm sure-"

He was interrupted. "No, no, _no!_ You don't understand, they… they blackmailed me! They have my big sister, a-a-and if I don't do what they say, they'll stop giving her her medicine! She'll die! B-But… I… They… They asked me to do something else," Delisi hiccupped, looking down for a second before locking his gaze with his superior's.

"…They asked me… to kill you," he whispered.

Arthur took a sharp breath, slightly turning his head away but still looking at the Lieutenant. The gun was still pointed at the Captain's head.

A few agonizing seconds ticked by, and neither moved or spoke.

The trembling voice of the Lieutenant broke the silence.

"…They didn't say when yet, but it was clear what they wanted me to do! They… I… But… but I can't do it. I could never, ever do it," he said, shaking his head.

Before Arthur could even react, Delisi whipped the gun from the Captain's head and pointed it at his own temple.

"Angelo, put that gun down!" the Captain cried, horrified.

Delisi was smiling a crooked smile, tears running down his face. "And… I-I just can't take this anymore. I'm sorry, sir."

"_ANGELO!_"

The door suddenly slammed open, distracting the Lieutenant for a split second. But that was enough time for Arthur, who took advantage of this and lunged forwards to grab the gun. Instinctively, Delisi pulled the trigger, but Arthur had already moved the man's wrist away, and the bullet embedded itself into the ceiling, creating a gaping black hole.

The two fell down, the Captain freeing the fuming gun from Delisi's curled fingers and throwing it away. The weapon skidded on the floor before stopping with an innocent 'thud' against the Lieutenant's desk.

While hovering over Delisi who had curled up on his side, Arthur looked at who had opened the door. It was one of his other subordinates, with eyes as wide as saucers.

"What on Earth has happened here?!" the newcomer exclaimed, examining both of them.

Arthur sighed in relief, and looked down at the sobbing Lieutenant on the ground under him.

"Good question. Good bloody question."

* * *

When Gilbert and Ludwig entered the police station, they were greeted with people running all over the place, looking kind of nervous and tense.

"What the hell has happened here?" Gilbert snorted. "Is this usually how things go in Italy?"

The German sighed. "Not really. Something must be wrong. Well, except the car blowing up…"

"…Yeah, sorry about that." The albino looked away, while still leaning onto his brother for support.

"Aaand that is the 76th time you've said it. In barely even twenty minutes," Ludwig said.

"You really haven't changed a bit, huh?" The older brother grinned, coughing once. "Still as nerdy as ever."

"Glad you haven't changed as well. Still self-centred, arrogant, reckless and irresponsible as ever," Ludwig retorted.

"Hey! I just saved your butt!" Gilbert protested.

The blonde smiled a little, glancing sideways. "…Which only confirms what I just said. Anyway, we need to find the infirmary for you," the detective stated, determined, stepping inside the building between the rapidly moving people.

While they headed for the infirmary, Ludwig heard only bits and pieces of what had happened, because everyone was speaking in a rapid Italian he couldn't understand...

Someone tried to shoot. Shoot who? The Captain, it seemed. Did he just hear the word interrogation?

Just who were they talking about? Everyone seemed astonished, while quickly moving around the building. Something was not right.

Finally, they found the infirmary. Gilbert slowly seated himself onto the paper-covered plastic bed, hissing a little as he did so.

"…Is everything alright?" the blonde asked, concerned.

Gilbert grinned again. "Yeah, don't worry about me. Get to that boss of yours while a pretty Italian lady gets me patched up here."

Ludwig cocked an eyebrow. "A pretty lady? I don't think you've been to many Italian infirmaries, _Bruder_. Also, don't forget to ask for dry clothes."

"Huh?!" the albino exclaimed, before Ludwig left with a small smile on his face. On the other side of the small infirmary, a glass door opened to reveal a muscular man with a moustache so thick it could rival Stalin's, and with tanned forearms as thick as tree trunks, which were so hairy they could probably be combed.

"You've got to be kidding me," he groaned, closing his eyes.

In the meantime, Ludwig was looking for the Captain. Whatever the commotion was, he had to report what had happened-

"Beilschmidt! Get in here!" a voice exclaimed in English. Without any warning, the Brit pulled him inside from a door that had randomly opened to the German's right.

"Hey!" he protested, before noticing he was in a dimly lit room, a small yellow light the only light source.

The Captain closed the door. "Beilschmidt! Thank God, you're alive. Soaked, apparently, but alive. I feared the worst when I heard about that dirty little trick they pulled on you at the harbour."

"Is this what all the racket is about?" Ludwig asked, knowing already it wasn't the case.

The Brit suddenly seemed extremely sad, shaking his head slowly. "No… something else happened. It's a good thing you arrived, by the way. Follow me."

The puzzled German followed the Captain through another door into an equally dim room, which looked completely like the one they had been in before.

Except for large recording machinery occupying all the place, and a large window opening up on the opposite side in which they came from.

It was an interrogation room. On the other side of the glass, there was yet another room, brightly lit this time. There was a chair in the middle of it, a man seated in it. The man had his hands handcuffed behind his back, and his head was bowed down, so that you couldn't see his face. However, the jet-black hair somehow seemed familiar to Ludwig.

He frowned, turning to look at the Captain. "Kirkland, what is the meaning of this?"

"This…" The Brit paused, as if he didn't know how to continue. "This man is the key to get the Vargas in jail. Both of them, and for a long time at least, until we gather more evidence so that the jailers can throw away the key."

A light chill ran down Ludwig's spine. On one side, he was satisfied, because this was what he had been working on since the beginning. Yet, on the other side… he didn't think Italy Dimwit belonged in a jail, somehow. Gilbert had told him his story, about what had happened in those fourteen years, and what… what the bomb had all been about. Grumpy had wanted his head, and he probably had a bad influence on Dimwit… Yet he had acted out of self-defence. After all, he was only trying to protect his brother. Wouldn't he do the same if someone threatened Gilbert? But he hadn't threatened Dimwit's wellbeing, and he definitely wouldn't try and dispose of somebody with a freaking bomb.

Ludwig swallowed, ordering his brain to shut up for a minute. "What do you mean key?"

Gilbert technically was also a potential witness they could use to drag the Vargas to jail, but he still didn't like the whole idea. Yet it was his job. '_Argh, shut up!_' he groaned internally again.

The Captain suddenly looked sad. "He is, at the same time, culprit, accomplice, witness and victim. With him, we can definitely throw them both in jail, and finally end this madness."

Ludwig took in a deep breath when the man on the other side of the glass looked up briefly.

"My God, is that… Delisi?"

* * *

Antonio slammed open the door of his hotel room, breathing heavily. He slammed it closed again, and then stumbled over to the table.

_The names, remember the names…! _He commanded in his mind. He found his notebook on the bed, along with the pencil. He threw it open to a random page and scribbled in it with the blunt pencil, pressing down hard on the page.

_Feliciano – Dimwit_

_Romano – Grumpy_

_Romulus Vargas? (Officially: disappeared)_

And then:

_Gaetano Cannizzaro_

_Vito Puglisi_

_Mario Torrisi_

That last name bugged him the most. There was just something… something that didn't add up to it all. The last three names all had done horrible things, but he didn't quite remember exactly what. He racked his brain for a minute or so and finally added the missing words, underlining the last of the names.

_Gaetano Cannizzaro – Murderer_

_Vito Puglisi – Blackmailer, Rapist_

_Mario Torrisi – Thief, Blackmailer, Murderer_

He was quite sure he hadn't gotten any of them wrong. After he had finished writing them, he fell on his knees, shaking. These six lines had cost him the trust he had earned of one of the two Bosses. These six lines had cost him _Romano_'s trust. And he still didn't know how Ludwig was doing…

He decided to shove all these thoughts aside, and concentrate on the name that bugged him the most.

Mario Torrisi.

Where had he heard it before?! Definitely from the files Kirkland had given him. He got onto his feet, shaking, and grabbed the files, plopping down on the bed.

He flipped through the pages fast, almost feverishly so, earnest to find the name.

The confirmed goon list. He wasn't there.

The suspected accomplices goon list. He wasn't there.

The various people possibly subjected to the 'pizzo' list. He wasn't- wait a second, there he was!

With the tip of his nose hovering mere centimetres above the yellowy paper, he read all there was about this guy.

_Mario Tossisi, married. Type of activity subjected to the 'pizzo': Grocery shop._

Then there was a red blocky type of font, which spelled the word "_Deceased_".

"Ugh…" Antonio groaned. So he was a victim, huh? He flipped over the pages of the file, searching for the victims list.

Yet, there was something that didn't quite add up. Why would the mafia kill Mario Torrisi? Being a mob Boss, Vargas would have all interest in hiring this kind of people, right? And if this man had been killed, did it mean that the other three were as well? Just… why!?

He found the victim list, and found Mario Torrisi. Now he remembered why it had sounded so familiar: it had been the murder that had brought Kirkland to the decision of calling him and Ludwig.

He quickly read the victim's profile. _Mario Torrisi, Drowned on Friday the XXth of June 1975, in the harbour of Palermo, at 2:00 am. Modus operandi: tied to a cinderblock and shot in the shoulder. No witnesses._

Then there was a long paragraph describing Mario Torrisi's life, with the grocery shop and all, and that the reason that the Vargas had finished him off was that he had tried to complain about the 'pizzo', and had tried to contact the police.

Antonio scratched his neck. Why didn't it say anything about him being a murderer? A thief? A blackmailer, also? Actually, the whole of his file seemed to imply that this man was an innocent victim.

But then why would another file exist, in which the man was described as a thief, blackmailer, and even murderer?

The Spaniard bit his lip.

Something definitely didn't sound right. Romano and Feliciano were doing something they clearly loathed to do, their grandfather was missing, and if other names happened to change to a double-status like Mario Torrisi's did...

Suddenly, energy flared up in him again. He was so close; he could almost _smell_ there was something wrong. He had a theory, but obviously, his hands were tied if he didn't show up with any evidence. He needed to contact Ludwig and the Captain immediately. In the police station, he would obviously find what he was looking for.

He took a decision, stood up, picked up the notebook with the names and his fallen hat, before leaving the room as fast as the lightning.

* * *

**Hohohoho, I'm really enjoying this, aren't you? ;D I love this feeling of TENSION! **

**So anyway, I hope you liked it! I'll see you next time, I hope! :D**

**Ciao!**

**...**

_**Nein! Warten sie, Bruder! : **__(german) No! Wait, brother!_

**_Gut! Jetzt, lass uns gehen! : _**_(german) Good! Now, let's go!_

**_Dottore; Ambulanza :_**_ (italian) Doctor; Ambulance_

_**Secondo me è morto. Guarda com'è pallido :**__ (italian) I think he's dead. Look at how pale he is._

**_Morto :_**_ (italian) Dead._

**_Mi spiace… m-mi dispiace… mi dispiace così tanto… perdonami… : _**_(italian) I'm sorry... I-I'm sorry... I'm so, so sorry... Forgive me..._

_**Oh, Gott, Gilbert, Ich habe dich zo vermisst…! :**__ (german) Oh, God, Gilbert, I missed you so much...!_


End file.
